Discidium
by KCameh
Summary: .LV/DM. Draco dimmed his exterior so he would be underestimated by the wizards around him. Yet, when the Dark Lord penetrated his mind and violated his memories, he unwillingly became the object of the man's obsession. When the future collides with the present to deliver a warning about the side he chose, Draco reconsiders his role in history. -Slash-
1. walking as One

A/N: I've found it most frustrating not being able to read a Voldemort/Draco fic that was not a one shot and even those did not end my craving for this pairing. First of all, do not expect Voldemort to be _fluffy_ or to be _a changed man_ regretting his past actions. Voldemort will be Voldemort. And Draco will be Draco. Although most of you would portray Draco as being a snivelling coward, I do not agree with that characterization. In the 2nd year he demonstrated out-of-the-books magical experience when he duelled with Harry and later on Half-Blood Prince extreme cunning and capability of fixing a magical object - the vanishing cabinet. JKR also did demonstrate in the book how Draco had been a loner in performing for Lord Voldemort which required at his tender age of 16 a great deal of introspect. This will be the Draco I will portray here. A pure blooded wizard who had the best access to the best of the best - magical education (which Lucius must have taken great deal of providing him with), social education and material possessions. I am not going to portray Draco as someone who has abilites far above his head nor am I going to make him into a supernatural being (although being a wizard already counts as it?) as a creatureDraco nor is Voldemort a creature either. I'm trying to stick to the cannon characters as much as I can but of course they will ooze my individual interpretation.

Have a good reading! That will be the longest author's notes I will ever write in this fic. If you have questions, I will answer them privately in reviews.

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_To be alone is to be different, to be different is to be alone. _

- Suzanne Gordon

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**Chapter 1**

Cold grey eyes assessed silently the vivacious atmosphere before them, an opposition to the dark thoughts racing through his mind. Hufflepuffs were chattering brightly, white flashing as students smiled at what he condescendingly thought were humourless jokes entailing unimportant and exaggerated adventures over the summer of 1995. Yet another year… He sneered at their naivety and lack of knowledge on the very dangerous and very real situation outside the walls of Hogwarts.

_Death. War._

As Gryffindors' laughter overpowered the other Houses' and students reached for their goblet of pumpkin juice, little did they know that a muggle was being tortured outside the protective barriers of the school. Draco mused that not solely one muggle but a full family was at the Dark Lord's mercy – or lack of it – for his amusement grew higher when mother and father begged and grovelled at his feet to spare their children.

Draco had yet to attend these gatherings filled with gruesome torture. Somehow he was glad he hadn't yet. No, it was not out of… _kindness_ he thought so for he still held contempt for muggles and mudbloods. His eyes slowly shifted to the left to land upon Granger. His handsome face contorted into a small sneer.

He pictured Granger squirming on the floor in her own blood and other secretions that were forced out of her and his cold blue eyes briefly flashed with slight disgust and _pity _and-

**_No_**.

He stopped himself. He would not be _weak_. And he was not stupid as the bloody _Golden_ Trio voiced at him in the corridors more times than he cared to take into consideration. The Dark Lord wouldn't allow weakness in his followers and he was sure he was going to be forced by his father to join _Him_.

He could only hope the day would be delayed more and more.

The thought of having to submit to a crazed man did not suit his taste. He glanced discreetly at Dumbledore and his eyes burned briefly at the ridiculously _neon_ orange robes the Headmaster was wearing today. Dumbledore's excessive lack of taste on fashion made him wonder momentarily how the man could maintain a perfectly composed exterior at his own reflection in the silver goblet he was eyeing.

Dolores Umbridge was not far ahead of Dumbledore in the matter, with her bright pink straight dress which definitely did not favour her in any way, not like anything would do so... That's what she always wore: pink, pink, pink... He was getting slightly dizzy from it all.

The horrendous pink toad came at Hogwarts under the influence of the Minister of Magic with the pretence to... _teach_ Defence Against the Dark Arts. Draco felt as if all his knowledge acquired in the past years in the subject had vanished whenever he was in class with her.

Well... he wouldn't complain, she never openly reprimanded him for anything. _Of course not_. He was an aristocratic pure blood. She wouldn't dare.

Else she'd hear from his father. Personally.

He was always amused how she deemed her life's mission to degrade Potter in her classes. As a self pointed High Inquisitor she did not restrict herself only to students, no, she made sure that she could subtly question professors. Including Snape.

She had failed once and ever since then she gave up on the Potions' teacher, only mildly taking notes, sometimes daring to incite an argument with her '_hem hem' _in the middle of Snape's lecture but a murderous glare behind the hooked nose from him silenced her promptly.

Draco averted his gaze from the teachers' table before being caught by his Head house snooping around it.

Although he was against putting his faith in the Dark Lord he would _definitely_ not desire to join Dumbledore. Draco was far from being a _light_ wizard, he admitted, his magic craved for the Dark Arts.

It was in his blood for generations and generations. His father, Lucius, proudly related to him once how none of his ancestors had ever been tainted by light magic.

Draco elegantly cut the beef on his plate mentally noting how its quality was far from reaching the standards in the Malfoy Manor. He raised his fork from his plate for a second before bringing it down again and pushing the piece of meat away with his knife.

He was not hungry. Whenever he thought about Vold– **_the Dark Lord_**, he inwardly quickly corrected himself – his appetite diminished drastically. He would have liked to believe it was not because of fear of the inevitable, that someday, sooner than he would be comfortable to admit, he would have to face _Him_.

His father had always shielded him from _His_ presence, coldly 'suggesting' to him that he would do well to self study in his bedroom so he would not lack behind the Mudblood who still outshined him in Hogwarts. Draco knew better and took the advice to heart and would always go quickly to his bedroom to _study_.

He would always lock the door but that was a secret no one else had to know.

"… was it, Draco?"

He blinked. He looked to his right from where Crabbe's voice had come. He quirked one of his perfect dark eyebrows at his chubby 'friend' in a silent question. He did not have friends. He did not share his secrets like Potter did with his two friends. A small pang of jealousy was quickly squashed inside of him. He didn't _need_ friends.

He remained silent. Draco Malfoy would not admit he hadn't been attentive to everything around him even if it was an insignificant conversation his housemates were having. Draco was glad then that Crabbe was not as stupid as he looked and understood the silent question hovering on his sharp aristocratic pale face.

"We were discussing the duel you had with scarface in the second year. I remember you using some out-of-the-book spells then but I don't remember which ones…" Crabbe looked as if someone had grabbed a knife and drilled a hole in his stomach. Which was the telltale of him thinking, Draco knew.

He paused for five seconds as he recollected the memory. The Duelling Club with that excuse of a wizard, Lockhart, the duel that he and Potter had, his surprise at finding that he was a parselmouth…

"_Serpensortia_" he answered Crabbe. The brown of his eyes seemed to brighten as he looked into Draco's grey. He could see reverence and excitement in Crabbe's face. His housemate was about to open his mouth.

"You shouldn't try to cast it. You might just disappoint yourself, Crabbe." He relinquished at the hurtful glance but Draco did not falter. "You are a pure blood, are you not? You see, sometimes I do forget your lineage at the display of your magical incompetence."

He gave him the generic Malfoy cold smirk and was satisfied when Crabbe looked back at his own plate seemingly sulking. What a non Slytherin trait.

Goyle, who had heard Draco's condescending tone, did not say anything but resumed to frowning. Of course he didn't say anything. Goyle going against his words? Neither had the audacity to do so. He was Slytherin's Malfoy. His surname was enough to make others not to go against him. Those who were smart at least…

Draco knew that Crabbe was far from being a squib. He had witnessed the wizard casting the _cruciatus_ on a student who was wondering alone at night on one of his patrols. But he wasn't as good as himself. Far from it, certainly.

Draco was now a prefect and he sometimes brought his assigned bodyguards with him on night patrols to amuse his boredom.

It had been little over two months since classes had started at Hogwarts. His father had been proud when he bid goodbye to his son at the departing platform knowing well that only the best students became prefects.

He admitted to himself that he did seek his father's approval. The man was a brilliant dark wizard, so brilliant in fact that he was Vold**–** **_the Dark Lord's_ – **he chastised himself, left hand. He was also his _father_; he had the same blood running through him. Even if the world frowned upon thinking that the Malfoys had some type of _bond_ between them, they had. It was family after all. And no matter the family, blood was blood and it would always be.

The Malfoys weren't openly affective, no, Draco knew. His mother did show him much more affection than his father did, showering him with sweets often – which he had talked to her about, he was already fifteen, almost a grown man and it would be unsightly for her to continue treating him like an eleven year old – but Lucius had shown his affection in colder ways, a small underlining praise here and there.

He did crave praise. It was one of his weaknesses. He did. He rarely got praised; Snape wasn't exactly the most warming wizard in classes, but the eyes spoke volumes at moments and Draco had learned to read them involuntarily over the years.

He pushed his silverware aside and rose from the table without an explanation. Draco didn't _explain_ himself to others. Others explained themselves to him. And most certainly he did not excuse himself because of Crabbe's and Goyle's curious gazes.

His bodyguards – he hated thinking of himself as someone who needed others to protect him – made motion of raising themselves too, even though he did not miss the longing gaze Crabbe eyed his potatoes with, but he stopped them tonight.

He waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. "No need. Stay. I wish to be alone."

Crabbe's eyes flashed in pleasure as he dug himself again into his plate.

Draco walked away from the Great Hall, no one paying attention to the blond haired Slytherin prefect as he passed the two tall doors towards the stairs that would lead him away from the chatter and clanking of silverware on plates.

His polished shoes barely made any sound as he almost glided through the corridors leading him to the Slytherin Common Room.

Some portraits glanced at him as he crossed the cold pavement until he reached the dungeons of Hogwarts. His posture and his appearance did demand attention, he mused to himself.

"Salazar" he whispered under his breath and the portrait allowed him entrance into the exquisite common room. Dark green leather sofas adjoined to the walls and in the middle on a luscious black carpet. Some Slytherins were sitting in the middle silently talking between themselves about politics and subjects that went above their little heads. He mentally sneered at the prude display of clashing egos as two conversed about the Ministry. Or _attempted_ to.

Draco was glad his father had hired private tutors to make him in the man he was today. Smart, cunning, able to hold a decent conversation with an adult on matters that were above his age but not above himself.

He did not stop to sit on the inviting recliners. He walked straight to where his door room was and opened it. He inhaled deeply at the familiar dark scent that clung to his new rooms as a prefect.

A prefect did not usually get private rooms but his father's influence spoke more in volumes. And there he was, finally with a bedroom for himself after all those 4 years. He did not have to tolerate Crabbe's midnight gases anymore or Goyle's snoring. Although they never went unpunished for their poor display of manners…

Draco smirked as he neared the four poster bed in the middle of the room. His desk was near the window to his right, his private bathrooms, oh _yes_, _private_ bathrooms, to his left. He eyed the porcelain of the room, the tiles, the faucets, the toilet, the **_tub_**. His father had exceeded his expectations at the beginning of the school year. He got a tub. One that was enough to engulf his full body in warm water even if he stood proudly at 1.78 meters at the age of fifteen.

Draco was about to let hot water run in the tub, which was built to fit into the ground floor, when he heard a tap on a window. He inhaled sharply. His mind reeled with thoughts.

It could only be an owl.

And he was proved right when he saw the familiar eagle owl tapping patiently on his window. He opened the window, welcoming the chilly breeze and the majestic owl inside. He unattached the letter from its thin leg.

He saw the elegant sharp writing of his father's name on the back of the letter.

What would his father want? Sending an owl in the middle the night instead at the usual breakfast was something out of his character, almost stating his urgency in him receiving the envelope, and his father was rarely out of character.

He glanced at the eagle owl which was already making a spring from the window to fly away.

He closed the windows back and with slight eagerness he broke the black Malfoy seal and started reading the letter quickly.

_Draco,_

_I will expect your presence these winter holidays at the Manor. _

_Be sure to come prepared. _

- _Your father._

Draco stared at the letter. Cold, short and sharp.

But not straight to the point.

Why would his father need to send him a letter about the incoming holidays when it was only normal that he would return to the Manor?

The true message lied behind the scribbled words, that much was obvious as a naked Hagrid.

He grimaced at the thought.

So his father wanted to tell him that he would be home at the holidays. But he already knew that, he knew that Draco would come. Unless… unless it was not Draco that was to come at the Manor. Maybe someone else… '_Come prepared?'_

Prepared for what? Every holiday was the same, only him, his mother and his father. Why wouldn't he be prepared? Was this possible person who'd come at the Manor someone he'd need to take caution of? Bellatrix? No, she was no threat to the family, they were blood, although more distant, but blood, and the Blacks always valued blood above all. Maybe even above the Dark Lord's authority–

Draco's eyes widened.

The _Dark Lord_!

'_Be sure to come prepared.'_

The sentence echoed in his head countless times. A small horrified expression plastered itself on his face. He was _not_ prepared. He had never seen the frigging Dark Lord in his life. Everything he knew about him was from his father's experience, not his own.

The bloody Lord _Voldemort_ was going to spend the holidays at his own house? Frigging unbelievable!

His white unmarred hands trembled slightly. He was not ready, he couldn't possibly be. The Dark Lord had been living in a body of his own since the last task of the Tri Wizard Tournament. Potter had witnessed to that.

Draco closed his eyes briefly, steadying his irrational small panic. Lucius Malfoy was his most loyal Death Eater. He would not harm his wife or his own son. At least he wished to believe that.

He mentally chastised himself for how foolish he had been an instance ago. No, there was nothing to fear. He only needed to be proud that the greatest dark wizard in history had chosen his home as his own.

He needed to prepare though, he knew the Dark Lord was powerful, very powerful. Before his demise at the hands of baby Potter, he had felt the man's alluring dark magic floating into his bedroom even though he had been on the second floor of the manor and the Lord bellow his room. He remembered shamefully how the magic seemed to lull him into a light trance as it licked his skin and aroused his mind with feelings a boy his age should not have.

If the Dark Lord had had that much impact on him without even being _near_ him, Draco could only imagine he would feel premature when facing him.

And that was when his father's words' alternative meaning sunk in.

He did not want to be disgraced by his son in front of his Lord. So Draco was to prepare himself mentally not to stutter or do anything remotely of Pansy Parkinson.

The door creaked open.

_Speaking of the Devil…_

Pansy Parkinson entered his room almost disgustingly in a shy manner. He frowned at her. She was anything but innocent. Her advances had always been there. Even in class when he had borrowed from her a quill her gaze and her hand would always linger more than necessary.

She had acted on her desires at the start of this year and Draco had lost his virginity to her and hers to him. Although it should have bonded them somehow, to Draco it did not. He was still emotionally indifferent to her.

"Good evening, Draco." She whispered in what she thought was a seductive tone.

It wasn't.

But a shag was a shag in Draco's mind. Why deny it when he knew that Pansy was loyal to him, seeking only his bed? She was somehow… pure in that aspect. He smirked. Pure and Pansy Parkinson in the same sentence sounded like profanity.

She mistook Draco's smirk as him leering at her and the next step she put her arms around his neck and eyed his face.

"Good evening." He delivered promptly. He was sure she could feel his hot breath on her cheek. Her eyes had closed and her lips neared his.

He allowed her to kiss him. She immediately started the kiss _deep_, tongue sensually gliding over his and he did have to give it to her that she was a good kisser.

He put his arms around her waist, even though it somehow felt _wrong_ doing that, and directed her back onto the bed. She forced him to go down with her as her arms were still around his neck and he did not protest.

He slowly started to grind himself between her legs which were now spread slightly to allow him better movement. She swiftly took off his necktie without breaking the sinuous clashing of lips and tongues, her expert fingers taking off his uniform's pullover, dishevelling his blond platinum hair in the process.

Pansy seemed to like his dishevelled look for she ran one of her hands through his hair while the other somehow managed to unbutton his white dress shirt without breaking pace.

He felt Pansy arching her back slightly as she started to rotate her hips against his erection. He groaned at her audacious response.

His head was slightly becoming more accustomed to having less blood flowing through his brain and more in his groin. He kissed her more fervently and he silenced her moan as he sharply thrust against her clothed pelvis.

"Draco…" she breathed against his neck.

He felt sharp kisses on his neck and heard her inhaling slowly and deeply. His cologne was one of the best after all.

Thoughts left him behind as she started _biting_ him, no doubt leaving marks on his neck, and his cock twitched at the slight pain and ridiculous pleasure he was given from his sensitive skin.

He absentmindedly flicked his hand in the door's direction and locked it, barely registering he performed wandless magic, and he climbed on the bed and higher up on Pansy's attractive body which was still fully clothed…

His hand lay above Pansy's breast and he smirked as she heard her whimper in impatience. But that was where the pleasure relayed; teasing, but not fully giving, playing without winning until the last moment. It tasted much sweeter.

But Pansy was never a patient bedmate so she efficiently unbuttoned the upper part of her uniform and pushed Draco's firm chest on hers, teasing his skin with her bra.

He let himself fall to the side and locked his arms around Pansy dragging her with him as he put her on top of him. Shamelessly she rubbed herself against his aching erection.

"Oh God, Draco, you're so hard" she moaned above him and he smirked as her eyes fluttered closed.

"Undo me, Parkinson."

He noticed with satisfaction that his voice came out as calm and collected almost detached of the aroused woman moving her hips over the length of him.

He felt unsteady fingers pushing his zipper down, slowly, almost teasingly, and he hissed as his erection was allowed to _breathe_.

He was pumped a few times and he allowed another hiss of pleasure to encourage her to proceed further.

"You are so hot, Draco." Her voice whispered in his left ear and he groaned as she shifted her skirt and quickly removed her panties, which he noted, were white tonight. What a puritan colour for her. How very wrong.

His cock was suddenly being engulfed by delicious warmth and wetness and he stifled a moan as Pansy took him in deeply.

"Ah -_fuck_" He clenched his teeth together as she began to move on him slowly at first, maddeningly slowly…

Without caring, he grabbed her hips hard and thrust deeply into her and he was rewarded with a high pitched moan and praises on his exceedingly pleasing length.

His neck was again ravished and he let out a throaty moan at the doubled pleasure. His thrusts became harder and harder, faster, faster, delving in deep and his breath hitched as he felt the walls around his cock constrict once, twice–

"Fuck, Pansy" and he buried himself inside her as his seed flowed freely into the warm and willing body.

Pansy moaned and he felt her insides constrict rapidly against him.

He panted as he slowly withdrew from her, a light sheen of sweat on his pale forehead betraying the effort of his fast thrusts.

Pansy rolled to the side and gave him a peck on his lips. He snorted lightly at the too loving gesture and rose from the bed to close the door to the bathroom as he entered it.

He closed his eyes as he stood in the middle of the bathroom, hearing the water running on in the tub. Parkinson knew not to be there when he returned to his bed. He had squashed the hope for them to _snuggle_ – he scoffed at the mere idea – when he had stated that they were not dating and neither were they to be considered lovers of any kind. Pansy always came to him, not the other way around.

She knew she had no chances of him ever proclaiming love over her.

He heard the door to his bathroom open quietly as he lowered his naked form in the tub. He sighed pleasurably as the warmth seeped into his pores.

His pleasure was interrupted immediately when Parkinson spoke.

"I… I can't open the door…" She trailed off a bit embarrassed at her seemingly magical failure.

Draco frowned. "Are you serious?"

She nodded. He sighed and pulled out of the bath much too earlier for his pleasure, noticing the faint reddening of his housemate's cheeks as her eyes raked over his naked form. He didn't blame her, he was fit from his Quidditch practices; his body was slightly muscled yet it was in no way bulky – it did not lose its lithe appearance.

He guided her wordlessly to his door and he flicked his wand lazily at it as he thought _Alohomora_. The door responded with a click and he turned to her with an eyebrow raised.

She looked at the door and then at him with a surprised expression. "You didn't even whisper the incantation…"

He rolled his eyes at her. "Honestly Parkinson, just because your limits do not reach Flitwick's height does not imply others cannot exceed your expectations." He sneered at her offended expression.

"H-how can you… after we've just…" She wisely let the imply hover in the air.

Draco sighed as pinched the bridge of his nose, more for the effect the gesture would imply than the need to do it. "Would you _kindly_ leave? I wish to retire to my own business and I am still starkers." He waved his hand in a fashion that attracted attention to his nakedness.

"…I" Parkinson stared at him for a second, her gaze roaming over his body and the flash in her eyes indicating to him that she was remembering the feel of him inside of her. Her eyes snapped back to his own.

"Goodnight, Draco." She said coolly.

He didn't open the door for her and didn't wait to see her going out. He sauntered naked over to his bathroom, sighing as he eyed the crystal clear water waiting for him, waves of heat inviting him into the hot water.

Draco lowered himself into the warm embrace of the tub and sighed contentedly. He stretched his body and amusedly thought that Pansy had left with his seed still inside her.

What a gruesome thing to be amused with.

Would people suspect him and Pansy had been shagging? Maybe… Slytherins weren't the brightest but they were decent at reading sings from people. They'd notice Pansy's going into his room every other night, staying for half an hour – he didn't spend much time on foreplay, not like he needed or was obliged to – and leaving his bedroom alone with some hairs slightly out of place and her uniform a bit ruffled.

It was not as if any of the Slytherins had demanded from him any sort of explanation. They were two prefects. They could have spent time chatting away, passing information on their duties. And Parkinson was close to Crabbe, Goyle and him. No questions would arise from the majority, no proof would befall in any of their hands.

* * *

He lay on his bed somehow still awake thinking about the letter and the implying words his father had written and for the first time since he could remember, he hoped his judgment was wrong.

He closed his eyes and imagined how the Dark Lord would look. How would his new body be? The same as before? But he didn't even remember how he looked like before. He had adventured sometimes at the top of the stairs leading to the entrance hall to sneak a look over the Dark Lord when he was small, but his memory was failing him.

He didn't know why but… red. He thought red would belong to his eyes. It was a strange feeling, almost as if knowing it out of instinct yet not _knowing_ truly.

Not knowing was… annoying… bothersome and…

… Unpleasant and-….


	2. Two opposites

A/N: I do not have a beta; if any of the readers find that I need one, please send me a PM and we can discuss it.

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**_All men by nature desire knowledge_**

**_- Aristotle_**

_

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_

**Chapter 2**

_**M**_orning came too early for Draco. His sleep had been dreamless yet he felt as if he had slept too few. He stabbed his eggs when he heard Goyle attempting to talk through a mouthful of sausages, no doubt trying to engage him in a conversation.

"Did you sleep well, Draco?" The oaf smartly swallowed before trying to repeat himself.

"As well as one can, Goyle." His housemate grinned at being acknowledged by him.

"Did you hear? Potter has had detention with Umbridge last night" he turned to Goyle as the tall boy gulped pumpkin juice without stopping to breathe "and it was prime time she'd do something about it, spewing aloud things which he shouldn't... He had it coming."

"Tell me, Goyle, is it your lack of creativity or intelligence that makes your poor social skills stand out in conversations?" He was satisfied by the frown appearing between Goyle's eyebrows. "In case you don't remember, which makes me believe the reason was the latter, I _was_ there when Umbridge announced Potter's detention."

Some Slytherins around him snickered at Goyle and others rolled their eyes at Draco's usual display of haughtiness.

Goyle turned to his plate and murmured under his breath 'just trying to make conversation' but did not openly defy him.

He snorted at Goyle's submission. Couldn't the boy come up with a flourished retort just once? He was beginning to get disappointed with his housemates' lack of eloquence in their speech.

He glanced at Umbridge.

Maybe that was the only thing the hideous excuse of a woman could teach them. How to underline insults clear as crystal under some carefully selected words that did not come out as blunt as a Quidditch bat.

* * *

DADA was never one of his favourite subjects.

It went against his magic's nature.

Pushing aside the Dark Arts with Light magic? He scoffed at the mere idea. How foolish of people to push that much power aside. Although he did see an advantage in it; the power would not fall in the hands of those undeserving.

He immediately thought of the Mudblood and the Weasel. Maybe Potter too but somehow he couldn't say that the image of _The Boy Who Wouldn't Die _tinkering with the Dark Arts was negative. It would have made _His_ return much easier, without doubt.

"Wands away, quills out."

Umbridge's voice got to his nerves every time, especially when she tried to smile nonchalantly at her students. It reminisced of a toad that had caught a particularly fat fly.

His only satisfaction out of these ridiculously useless classes was Potter's permanent frown and grimace as he scratched the back of his right hand...

Draco smirked as he caught a glance of a portion of red skin.

Punishment indeed. How he would have loved to be there and witness whatever Umbridge had done to the infamous Harry Potter. His submissive demeanour in these classes was something he very much appreciated.

Draco's smirk widened.

Umbridge passed along his desk and she mistook his expression as a _smile_ for her. She smiled politely back at him. _Know your place, clot_.

His eyes turned to the textbook in front of him pretending to read, words not registering. He eyed Umbridge as she walked to her desk with her back turned towards him. She approached Potter's desk and he grinned when he saw the green eyes trying to stab daggers on her back.

_So be it, Potter. For the first time I will grant your wish._

"_Colloshoo_" he whispered quietly under his breath and aimed the curse at Umbridge's feet right when her back was to Harry.

Crabbe looked at him oddly and Draco merely returned the stare, daring him to say anything.

He wanted to curse Crabbe when he heard a pig-like squeal and a heavy thud. He turned his eyes to the fallen professor and frowned sadly at what he had missed. Potter's face was terribly contorting into what seemed to be a shit eating grin and surprise. The whole class watched silently what had happened, some stifling mad laughter behind their hands and books.

Umbridge's eyes were wild as her head snapped back and roamed over every student in a murderous fashion.

Draco's snicker quickly faltered, masking his expression into confusion when the teacher's eyes met his. He etched his face in a concerned frown all the while laughing inside.

His wand had been immediately pocketed after he cast the charm so as not to arise suspicion. Crabbe was smirking and almost burst laughing out loud if it wasn't for the look or promised pain Draco gave him.

_Do not attract attention to our desk._

He wouldn't mind testing the cruciatus curse on Crabbe if he intended to go against his silent order. He looked at the Golden Trio and frowned when Potter was managing to control his bubbling laughter.

Well that wouldn't do. He needed to make him look like the culprit. And what other way than... He made sure Umbridge could not see him before sliding his hand into his robe's pocket and taking his wand out silently.

"_Rictusempra_" he muttered so quietly he was not sure if Crabbe could have heard him.

His eyes gleamed in satisfaction when the spell hit its target. Potter's face was first of surprise, then dawning and then pure horror as his lips could not contain the loud laughter inside his chest.

_That's for the second year_.

Granger looked at Harry as if he had declared that he and Ron were both tossers over her naked picture and Weasley looked at Harry as if he was an acromantula.

He noted with sadistic pleasure as Umbridge snapped her beady eyes to Potter and all his laughter had died in his throat.

Draco's grin was threatening to split his lips when he saw Potter's wand in his hand, no doubt trying to counter the spell. And at that moment he could hear bells and angels singing in his head over the _bloody_ sweet victory of his prank.

"_Mister_ Potter!" Umbridge boomed at Harry who was now trying to form a coherent explanation but his nerves failed him when...

"Two months of detention with doubled hours! How _dare_ you attack one of your teachers?"

Granger was about to sit up and defend her friend but Potter's look silenced her so she wouldn't get in trouble with him. The green eyes momentarily flashed to his direction but Draco lowered his head quickly, pretending to scan the pages innocently.

_Potter knew_.

And that made it so much _better_. Potter knew but he didn't have any proof on him. His wand was safely tucked away while Potter's was stupidly still in his hand, probably not able to go over his shock.

Crabbe looked at him with what seemed a conspiratory glint to his eyes and at that moment he wished he could grab the back of his thick neck and smash his nose into the table they shared.

_Couldn't the idiot be more bloody obvious?_

He was glad that his fears weren't met, Umbridge completely concentrated on Harry who was in the middle of the classroom and he was gladly at the back. Else he wouldn't have been able to pull this plan without... consequences.

He dully noticed the Weasel raising from his chair and banging his fist at the table, trying desperately to prove a point with his Neanderthal manners.

_Two months, Potter_.

He lowered his head again for this time he couldn't suppress the sadistic grin that coated his face.

* * *

"That was bloody brilliant, Draco!" Crabbe and Goyle were walking on his side after they left the classroom. He turned his grey eyes at the overweight sack that was his bodyguard.

"What was?" He asked nonchalantly.

Crabbe seemed lost for a good of one minute when realisation finally sparkled in his tadpole sized brain. He winked at him.

"Right."

As in _winked_. He grimaced at Crabbe and turned around walking along the corridors to his next class, Charms. Other students were moving along in groups too.

"MALFOY!" The booming voice made him stop in his tracks, his bodyguards doing the same. He turned around to see two bodies blocking his view but he recognised the voice of the red headed blood traitor.

"You **fucking** bloody _bastard_!" He sneered at the crude language and heard a female voice belonging to the Mudblood reprimanding him lightly. _So disgustingly _sweet_ of her to care about his manners_.

"How DARE YOU? DOING THAT TO HARRY?" He reacted quickly when he saw Weasley grabbing for his wand and beat him up to it. He was caught in his thoughts analyzing what offensive spell to use or if he should resume to defensive in case a teacher strolled by so he could be looked as the victim in the situation but as his mind furiously scanned through tactics in his head...

"_Incendio_!" His opponent shouted and Goyle and Crabbe who were big and slow barely had any time and option but to dodge to the side leaving him uncovered with a blast of red light moving towards him at lightning speed. _How very professional of them_.

He knew he didn't have time to raise any shields so he let the hex hit his robes before countering the small flames with a quick _aguamenti_.

Weasley furiously threw the same hex at him and he scoffed at his ridiculous duelling skills. No opponent should attack with the same spell twice in a row. This time he was prepared.

"_Protego._" He said lazily, as if he wished to be in another place at the moment. He waved his wand in an elegant C in front of him and the transparent white shield deflected the spell away from him.

He heard Granger yell something at him that resembled 'stop, not worth it' but the Weasel was so intended to avenge his friend that he completely ignored her as he threw something that he suspiciously identified as a binding leg jinx.

He rolled out of its way and hoped a teacher would come and interrupt the duel before he had to get serious. He did not want to use one of his advanced Dark spells with witnesses fit for a Quidditch match. Students made a circle some feet away from him and the fuming red head.

"What is it, Weasley? Did your _time of the month_ arrive?" He grinned in an irritating fashion to tick even more the read head and noticed Granger looking slightly affronted at his tactless words. He rose himself from the ground where he had been crouching.

"You _bloody _darn well know it, Malfoy!" He said with a sneer. "Don't try to act innocent! We _know_ it was you who pulled that shit in front of Umbridge!" He saw Weasley taking three steps toward his direction.

"_Incarcerous_!" He noted with satisfaction as Weasel's feet were bound and the read head fell onto the ground flat on his face.

"_Flipendo_!" His eyes widened when the curse travelled in his direction from Granger's wand. Who would have thought that Granger would step into a duel and turn the tables around in a very Slytherin manner? Certainly not him.

He was thrown some considerable feet away, his back slamming painfully into the wall behind him. He groaned as he felt some ribs pop out of place. He opened his eyes and saw Granger being approached by Goyle and Crabbe and he admitted that she was holding herself pretty well against two buffoons. Her intelligence compensated for the lack of physical power the other two useless bodyguards had. He didn't need to think twice to know exactly which muscle would win over the other.

His eyes snapped back to his situation when he saw the red head jump from the ground and look between him and Granger for a second and maybe somehow the Weasel had a partial brain inside his skull for he understood that Crabbe and Goyle were no magical match for Granger.

He saw the taller boy springing in his direction and Draco made a swift move for his wand which had been on the floor at his feet but that was the only thing he had time for because the next moment he felt a hand clenching around his neck and snapping his head back against stones of the wall.

He saw white for a moment and he felt dizzy when he tried to fix a grey glare on the Weasley.

"Just admit to it, _Malfoy_" His surname felt like an insult the way the red head spat it. He frowned in defiance at the bloody git and then switched his mouth into an enervating smile.

"So now you accuse without having any backup, do you?" He was about to bring his fist up on the blood traitor's face but it seemed he had predicted that action and he was backed to the wall even further when the Weasley pressed into his body to stop any movement from him.

"_Proof_? I need _proof_?" The hand around his throat gripped him tightly and he suppressed wheezing for breath. "**Everyone** knows it was you, Malfoy, who else could it have been?"

The Weasley backed away slightly and he almost grasped the opportunity before he felt a very much well aimed fist in his stomach. He doubled forward and gasped mutely as his knees fell on the ground. He couldn't _breathe_.

He tried to regain his breath but the little Gryffindor _fucker_ had aimed his punch right at his diaphragm. He was suddenly grabbed by the front collar of his uniform to face the angry red face of Potter's right hand.

"I will get you, Malfoy, one day I will. Don't think your bodyguards will be able to defend you."

Speaking of whom, he looked to his right as much as he could to see Crabbe and Goyle being interrupted and scolded by professor McGonagall. He was shaken slightly out of his stupor by the red head.

"I **will** get you, _Malfoy_." He felt hot breath on his face as Ronald Weasley whispered the threat so the approaching teacher couldn't hear him.

"Mr. Weasley, remove your hands from Mr. Malfoy this instance." The order was smooth and cold, not giving any signs which one of the two she favoured.

Obviously it would be 'Mr. Weasley' he mentally sneered. The hand grabbing him left him and he staggered slightly but he was able to keep himself standing. He would have had come back with an insulting retort at Weasley if he could speak. At the moment he was slowly and painfully regaining breath.

What a muggle way to duel. Leave it to the Weasley.

"Fifty points from Gryffindor, Mr. Weasley." He gloated at the struck face of the idiotic Gryffindor.

"B-but... professor! Malfoy started it!"

That _little_... He dare attack him without even having proof of what he accused him of – not as if he was innocent – and then he dared to _lie_ to his Head house that it was _him_ who incited the muggle brawl? Draco sneered visibly at Weasley and got one back in return. He wondered if the Sorting Hat was losing its touch.

"I do not care who started it, Mr. Weasley. Fifty points from Gryffindor. From each of you." McGonagall turned to Granger who was panting slightly from the magical exertion of fighting off two bullies. "And I expected more of you, Ms. Granger." The condescending tone would almost have hurt him if it had been directed at him.

He smirked at the ashamed expression Granger gave to her Head House.

"And fifty points out of each of you too, Mr. Draco, Mr. Goyle and Mr. Crabbe." He sneered at the teacher. Those two oafs were not going to get unpunished for their stupidity at being caught and thus rendering the Slytherin house with minus one hundred and fifty points.

That would hurt.

At least Gryffindor didn't come out unscathed.

"Now about punishment..." The professor trailed off and that brought his attention for McGonagall never left her sentences unfinished.

"... professor Umbridge will take care of assigning each of you a rightful punishment." He frowned in contemplation. Umbridge? Had the Ministry's influence grown over the past few months at Hogwarts so quickly?

"Professor _High Inquisitor_, professor McGonagall." That sickly fake sweet voice made him grimace. Dolores was walking towards them with what seemed an extremely satisfied aura. She glanced at him briefly and then at Weasley and her eyes turned harder.

Well, wasn't it his luck that _Ronald_ wasn't in her high regards...

Sometimes he appreciated being a Malfoy too much.

* * *

"What punishment did you get?" Parkinson sat next to him at diner. He looked at her for a moment and resumed eating his fried rice mixed with vegetables and bean sprouts. Most definitely proof of the Headmaster's eccentric tastes in cuisine. _And clothes._

His mind took in Pansy's eyeliner and mascara.

"What's the look for?" He asked her uninterestedly.

"Oh." She blushed and started fidgeting.

"Is a monosyllabic answer the best you can come up with?" He brought his fork to his mouth and had to admit that rice, although it was food for the poor, was something he wouldn't mind eating more often.

"No... I just..." She frowned and stopped fidgeting as if knowing that the gesture annoyed him.

"Blaise asked me out for a stroll tonight." She sputtered quickly. He stopped for a second but resumed to his meal without giving her a reaction.

"I hope... you don't mind that he..." She looked at him trying to search for his gaze but he did not give in her hopes. He took his sweet moment swallowing the pumpkin juice feeling Pansy growing more stressed as he dragged each minute.

He turned to her finally. "Parkinson, if you think there has ever been an 'us' then you should rest assured for it has not. Whatever made you come here and ask for my _permission_ to date a bloke is only inside your girlish fantasy filled imagination and does not correspond to reality."

She parted her lips but then closed them again. _Smart woman_.

"You never answered my first question." She said tentatively.

He looked her up and down as if assessing if she was worthy enough to question him. She fidgeted under his gaze.

"Umbridge gave me a punishment only to keep suspicions at bay of her favouring Slytherins." He waved his hand nonchalantly. "I am to clean the Library for one week with the aid of the wand if I so prefer."

"That is hardly a punishment." She snickered.

He kept to himself that he was permitted access to the Restricted Section. He had grabbed the opportunity when he was in her hideous and abnormally pink office. She of course permitted him since he was a prefect and a _Slytherin_. And a pure blood, of course. Nothing was above the purity of blood.

"Weasley got the male bathrooms for one week and he has to do it without a wand. Not like I couldn't imagine that; after all, he is fit to have _dirty_ hands."

He couldn't figure what Pansy had against Weasley; of course being a blood traitor was never favouring in anyone's eyes but her remark made him think she had some hidden motives that drove her to hate him as much as he did.

Blaise walked over to them and nodded at Draco as a sign of respect and turned to Pansy. "Are you ready?"

"Yes." She beamed at him. How _disgusting_ the display of public affection was. Blaise looked at him for a moment and he returned the stare back. The brunette shook his head and took Parkinson's arm in his before finally leaving him in peace.

Well, with a relationship forming between the two he wondered if Blaise knew how Pansy had lost her virtue to him and had continued to come back to him.

Parkinson chose a good time for her to have her... _date_. It was her shift tonight – along with him – to roam the castle grounds in search of fools who dared to break the curfew.

He hoped he could catch some Gryffindors tonight. Maybe he could make the teachers deduct some points as a pay back for what had happened earlier with Weasley.

* * *

He went to the library to find it still open. Madam Pince looked up from her books to smile at him coldly. He returned the smile without reservation.

"Well, since you have arrived Mr. Malfoy I will take my leave. I have been waiting for your arrival." He looked at her, unbothered that she would suggest he came late. He wasn't. The clock on the wall confirmed him so.

"I will expect you to lock the doors once you've finished with your... detention." Ah, so she knew how lenient Umbridge had been. Good for her to notice how important he was.

"A simple locking charm will do. After that you only need but to say the words '_cogito ergo sum_' and it's done."

He wasn't familiar with the sentence. Latin had never been his best but he could figure out it meant 'I think, therefore I am'. Probably a muggle quotation? That would follow Dumbledore's character.

"Goodnight, Mr. Malfoy. I do think it's unnecessary to mention that any damage to the books is on your own responsibility." She gave him a last tight smile before walking out of the library, closing the doors as she did.

He rolled his eyes at her unsocial persona.

He snorted.

Not like he had any rights to complain.

Not like he ever complained. That would be fit of a Weasley.

He smirked knowingly. Weasley... the excuse of a wizard was getting what he deserved. Degraded to cleaning toilets and urinals. He couldn't stop the grin at the humiliation the red head must feel.

He turned on his heel and waved his hand silently at some bookshelves which had been purposely dirtied – he was sure it was the work of Madam Pince – and it did not bother him in the slightest.

He walked along the rows of shelves without any spark of interest to pick any of the ancient looking tomes, some organized in a messy fashion on chairs, other lying peacefully next to each other on shelves.

Books hadn't been his favourites but he would not deny a precious one from time to time. And that's what he wanted now. To go to the Restricted Section. The knowledge that would be contained there would certainly appease his delicate palate.

Why did he want the Restricted Section and not the Library? Although he did admit the Library itself had valuable books hidden between piles of gibberish, Draco knew it was all about Light spells or Neutral spells.

If he ever put his mind into reading a book it would be restricted to the Dark Arts only. Light spells were mostly weak and few were the ones which helped in battle. _Expecto Patronum_ was certainly a very powerful Light spell but his magic did not allow him to perform it nor did he have anyone to teach him how to mould it to allow him to cast it. _Ask father?_ He chuckled at the thought of his stern father ever teaching him magic that Dumbledore would.

There was just no possibility.

With Light magic that is.

But Dark magic certainly compensated with offensive spells. And that was the major difference between these two opposite branches of magic. One focused on being offensive and to cause real damage to the enemy while the other focused mostly on protecting the caster and restraining the enemy.

If he ever spoke of this knowledge to Crabbe or Goyle they would without doubt stare at him and scratch their heads. No, he didn't need to share knowledge with anyone, even if they were his housemates. Keeping to oneself was the greatest privilege of all.

He had the upper hand.

Let his enemies underestimate him. For if others did see you as a threat they wouldn't let their shields down around you and wouldn't allow themselves not to be aware and alert if you were nearby.

People shared secrets with people whom they thought were _inferior_.

_Know thy enemy_, his father always told him that. And he took it to heart.

He walked calmly to the rope marking the difference in the knowledge contained in the books further on. Sliding it aside, he entered the Restricted Section with slight eagerness. The dark wood of the polished shelves added to the darkness of the room.

He inhaled deeply finding that he did like the aroma of old pages barely touched by humans.

He looked around, not knowing where to start. He decided to walk in further the room and at that time something caught his eye on the left. He stopped and turned and his outstretched hand seemed to prickle in response to the book he was aiming for. Sitting on a low shelf, out of people's attention was a black hard cover with intricate designs. He pulled it out and eyed curiously the front cover when he noticed the swirls and lines somehow formed an open mouth and pitiless eyes, as if the book was screaming at him in agony. Interestedly, the cover did not have any motion to it. He glided his fingers over it and opened the first page to–

A sudden horrendous scream echoed in the room as the chilling sound bounced off the walls. The hair on the back of his neck stood on edges and his body was frozen to the spot.

He dropped the tome quickly as if it had burned him. He breathed in and out harshly. _Fucking hell_. That must have been the most notable scare he had had in his life.

_Now, Draco, don't be silly. It was just a book_. He gulped as he eyed the non comforting atmosphere of the room as if he was suddenly aware of how oppressing the darkness was.

He picked the book again, carefully so he would not open it by accident and placed it in the same place. His eyes fixed on the tome to its right. How odd. _Odd indeed_. He felt some kind of... _attraction_ to it.

He could compare it to Pansy going inside _Twilfitt and Tatting's_ and eyeing the perfect dress for the _Yule_ Ball.

He picked it immediately and sat on an old wooden chair by the window which did not allow the moonlight to seep in.

"_Lumos_". The cover was dark brown, simple. Too simple to attract his attention as it had. The title was too faded for him to understand it. He opened the book and scanned through its contents with some effort as some letters were faded and he had to figure out what words belonged there before. It did not help that it was written in Old English.

Once again he found himself putting to practice what he had learned from his private tutors when he had been a child. No, it was not reading Old English, his father had not been that antiquated with his education. A translating charm would suffice.

"_Reddo libri._" He said clearly as he pointed his wand to the surface of the book.

He had to wait quite a bit as the pages flipped one after the other as if an invisible hand was touching them. He saw the ancient words transform into Modern English before his eyes and he was satisfied to be able to comprehend them. The table of contents was finally readable before his eyes.

The book was Dark, very Dark he could understand that from skimming through the pages and its titles. It mentioned mortality and immortality and spells and complicated rituals which would post pone one's exterior aging and he read the ingredients they required feeling slight aversion. Hippogriff liver, vampire's blood, Horntail's wing... and _human_ cerebellum.

He paused there. He didn't need to read more.

He skimmed some more pages and stopped when he read a title in bold.

_The unknown of Ignotus'_

He raised his eyebrow at the odd title. _The unknown of the unknown?_ Well, isn't that redundant...

His eyes trailed after what seemed like a journal entry mentioning fears about Death and the desire to cheat it and becoming immortal.

_**It**__ fixes you in the eye of the mind, reading your thoughts, yet not _reading_. __**It**__ feels you, yet you cannot feel __**it**__. Traitorous is the mind; it betrays your own thoughts. A mind which has a mind of its own. Traitorous indeed. _

_I find it hard to keep to myself the thoughts which I wish to keep. Sometimes they ask me and yet I want to lie but my mind does not allow it. So I speak the truth. A mind which has a mind of its own. _

_So I found a way, so simple and yet I was delayed in finding the simplicity of it; a complicated matter can be simple in a simple man's view and a simple matter can be complicated in a complicated man's view. _

_So I finally write the truth down. __**It**__ knows that I do, but it does not bother me. __**It**__ wants to take me soon, I feel it. My brothers deny my fears; they say the age is to blame. So I have found an intriguing word in my researches. A word that does not come from my brothers, no, but it soothes me more than they do. __Horcrux__. _

_If one stores the mind which has a mind of its own somewhere, Death cannot take you. Even if **i**_**_t_**_ does take you, only the materiality of you is gone. But the __substance__ of you is not lost. _

_How do you store it? By committing the most dreadful act a human being is capable of..._

The long and abstract passage ended there. He turned the page yet he could not find the continuation of the thought. _Horcrux_? His father had never spoken of it, his tutors had never mentioned such and the Malfoy Library had never whispered word of it.

A chill ran through his spine. He looked at the book and promptly closed it.

"_Finite_." He knew the words had returned to their original gibberish. He would have to ask his father about this. About... horcrux. The inner walls of his stomach clenched in yet another chill.

He would not think about the word again. It made him feel uneasy.

Draco looked at the window to see trough some cracks on the design a full ominous moon casting its rays on his skin. It wasn't soothing as he had expected it to be. He stood up and was about to put the book next to the screaming one when his hand hesitated. He looked at the tallest bookshelf. Bringing the chair near it, he stepped on the creaking wood and raised his hand. He placed the book horizontally far away from view.

He nodded to himself, satisfied that even he couldn't find it from the ground's perspective. Memorizing the bookshelf as the one near the west window, he briskly turned his back to the unnerving atmosphere the Restricted Section had suddenly adopted.

He was glad to enter the safety of the illuminated part of the Library the students were allowed to visit on a daily basis.

Turning to close the doors behind him, he muttered a _colloportus_ under his breath to seal the door.

"_Cogito ergo sum_." He was embarrassed at the way he pronounced the sentence. His Latin pronunciation was not as good as he suggested with his spells.

"_Tempus_."

It was eleven. He walked through the corridors on his way to the Slytherin common rooms, not expecting to bump into any student who missed curfew. He did hope he wouldn't have to face Parkinson and Zabini heavily snogging into a wall.

He wouldn't want his housemates acting awkward and all flustered like girls around him for having them caught in the spotlight.

Parkinson was already annoying enough.

Feeling a bit disappointed that he did not catch any Gryffindors sneaking around without permission, Draco found himself later in bed with silver pyjamas that accentuated the coldness in his eyes.

The Dark Lord suddenly popped into his head.

He would have to face the man.

He knew from his father the man was an extremely skilled _legillimens_ and for that he needed to perfect his Oclummency skills over the course of the year. To him it was not very hard to cleanse his mind before going to sleep. The environment he was forced to grow in when he was a child always reminded him not to let his emotions seen, not to let emotions take over your rational mind.

So as he drifted off without having a thought on his head, his eyelids fell and he was taken by a deep dreamless sleep.


	3. Three tea cups

A/N: Criticism is highly appreciated be it on the writing style or the characters. Have a good Sunday afternoon.

* * *

_**"He who controls others may be powerful, but he who has mastered himself is mightier still"**_

_- Lao Tzu_

_**

* * *

**_

**Chapter 3**

_**P**_otions were his favourite subject, he had to admit. Mostly because they were taught by his Head House. But potion knowledge was one of the most useful strengths a wizard could have. He did like working for something and getting a satisfactory result in return. It made him feel accomplished.

So he ignored Goyle's morning complaints about how he had to chop sneezewort and stir the potion counter clockwise more times than his arm would be comfortable with.

Draco was glad whenever he did not have to work in pairs with Goyle. He was slightly brighter than Crabbe but he always made mistakes, like adding four extra petals of scurvy-grass...

So he returned to his own cauldron and added the final ingredient: lovage.

The potion they had to brew was the _Confusing and Befuddlement _draught which was said to push a wizard into being hot-headed and reckless. He glanced at Weasley and wondered if the red head would die out of overdose of those traits if he drank it.

He smirked to himself and stirred the potion twenty times to the left and ten to the right.

Snape passed his desk and lifted both eyebrows in recognition of the well brewed green potion.

"Ten points to Slytherin, Mr. Malfoy."

Draco's smirk widened at the teacher's favouritism. He saw Granger out of the corner of his eye fuming over her finished and unappraised potion. Just when he thought his smirk couldn't grow more. He turned to bottle his potion and saw Goyle's cauldron which had a white tinge to it.

"What the hell did you do to it, Goyle?" His question was not one that he wanted to be answered but to serve more as an insult.

"... I have no idea." Goyle mumbled over his cauldron and with a pleading look he turned to him.

"No." He denied Goyle's muted request. He heard his housemate sigh and drop the unspoken subject.

He still hadn't forgotten that Goyle and Crabbe were up for a punishment.

* * *

Care of Magical Creatures was Draco's afternoon class, right after lunch, so he walked the grounds towards the Game Keeper's hut with great disdain. The half giant Hagrid was not a bad teacher, he had to admit, but his classes were not safe and Draco was not up to becoming disfigured this early in life.

"Come along, lads!" The cheery voice called him nearer the limits of the Forbidden Forrest.

As the lesson started with introducing bowtruckles and their liking to trees he noticed the half breed's injured arm and remembered the short conversation he and his father had had about Hagrid's mission on Dumbledore's order. Something about Hagrid tempting his own _kind_ to the Light side of the war.

The stammering voice of his teacher woke him up out of his musing. He followed his teacher's nervous gaze to the back of the students' crowd and he smirked as his eyes fell upon Umbridge and her notepad on which she was continuously writing.

"As ol' of ya should know, bowtruckles favour woodlice. Now, if ya want'a grab a bag before we venture in tha Forrest..."

He picked one of the small purple bags with a frown on his face, careful not to let the strings loose.

As he stepped in line with the other students, Millicent Bulstrode on his right, he felt awfully calm walking on the dirt path into the Forrest that he... somehow had feared? He knew there was something he had to feel about the Forrest that would not make him step inside of it without any protest but at the moment his head was clear of any negative emotion. Even if he did know the dangers that lurked behind the trees, the beasts that lived inside caves not too far from them that could rip one into pieces. His father had warned him about the dangers and he wondered if he, aside from Hagrid, was the only one who actually _knew_ what was inside the wilderness.

Yet surprisingly he felt... courageous.

Draco's eyes narrowed.

Backbone was not in his genes and although neither was cowardice in the Malfoys' upbringing, he could not stop the shaking feeling that something was not _right_. He felt eyes on him and turned his head to the right to see Bulstrode _staring_ at him with an odd interest.

He raised his eyebrow and sneered at her unwanted attention. She blushed – which was a gruesome sight on her over puffed cheeks – and lowered her gaze to the ground.

_What was that?_

He was aware his appearance was worthy of attention but Bulstrode had never dared to this length of unhidden appreciation. Normally he would have had insulted her boldness but instead he quickened his pace to walk with Crabbe and Goyle alternatively.

Both his bodyguards nodded as a sign of respect.

He heard some branches snapping behind him and he turned to look back at Umbridge's ungraceful steps and he grinned discreetly when he saw she was mumbling under her breath and her hair was unusually out of place. Her right leg gave up a bit under her and he noticed her heel had slipped on a small stone.

Her _pink_ heels.

Pushing aside whatever revulsion he had for the woman and grabbing the opportunity to be in her grace, he walked over to her and asked her quietly.

"Would you like me to help, Professor High Inquisitor?" He polished her ego with the title for she turned at him with a beaming yellow smile.

"How very well mannered of you, Mr. Malfoy. I can see the difference in your upbringing, a thorough bred gentleman." She seemed to compose herself as if he standing near her demanded of her to do so.

"Not at all, professor, it is only the duty of a student to be of assistance when required." He said to her in his smoothest tone.

She nodded, pleased by him. Seeing that gladly she didn't send any sings that she wanted him to offer his arm, he invented a polite excuse to be dismissed of her presence and eagerly joined Crabbe and Goyle who had been conspicuously glancing between him and Umbridge from time to time.

He hadn't been happier to be in the presence of his bodyguards when he reached them.

Sucking up to Umbridge would pay off in the future; after all she was under the Minster of Magic. He shivered slightly at his previous actions and turned to halt in his steps as other students stopped ahead of him. He scanned his surroundings and mentally appraised that he could still see Hogwart's peaceful and safe grounds from his spot. They hadn't walked deep in the forest.

The clearing they were in had a circular space surrounded by trees where they would certainly find a sitting place on the ground to draw the bowtruckles they spotted on the branches.

"Now ya shouldn't stray away too close to ter trees. Bowtruckles 're awful protective of der home. Ya would find yourselves without yer eyes, ya see."

Draco was about to send a snide remark about Hagrid's unsafe methods of teaching but somehow he didn't feel like it was a dangerous class so he dismissed his thoughts.

He heard a familiar feminine giggle to his far left and he turned to see Pansy and Blaise holding _hands_ and whispering things to each other. His stomach turned slightly at the _passionate_ looks they were both sending to each one.

_How repulsive_.

Guess it was him and his hand from then on because he was definitely not going to accept a woman who had been previously _touched_ and by this time he was sure all Slytherin females had had their cherry popped. Well... maybe except Bulstrode.

He felt eyes on him once more and turned to Bulstrode, suspecting it might have been her again but he was proven wrong for the plump girl was searching for someone to partner with and he was glad she was not as stupid as Crabbe to dare to search for his company.

His eyes clashed squarely with Weasley who was glaring daggers into him. He lifted the corner of his upper lip into a sneer and wiggled his eyebrows to provoke the red head further. And it worked. The Weasel would have stridden to him but Granger's hand on his arm stopped the Gryffindor. He felt somehow disappointed–

_And again_, he felt out of character. He was not one to jump into a brawl like a _muggle_. _Or a Mudblood_. He turned his glare to Granger who promptly ignored him.

He rolled his eyes and strode over to a lone boulder and sat on it gracefully. He was _not_ going to reduce himself to be on the same level as the _Golden Trio_. He scanned the bark of the tree for any signs of a bulging shape that would be identified as a bowtruckle.

Goyle and Crabbe walked toward him and smartly sat on the ground on his right side and they took out their own drawing parchments and quills.

Crabbe looked at him from the ground and he rolled his eyes at their expectancy. He ignored him completely and turned his head to the tree just to spot a moving _branch_. _A bowtruckle_. He slipped a black leather glove on his right hand before digging his fingers in the purple pouch to bring a small lifeless woodlouse and throwing it at the expectant creature. It greedily accepted his gift and remained immobile afterwards.

He narrowed his eyes slightly and started to shape the hideous little creature which was staring back at him, daring him to take 3 steps further to its home.

Unfortunately, the famous Malfoy sneer did not have any effect on the little twerp.

As his quill stroked the parchment, which was whiter than standard ones, he absentmindedly thought how he did not like drawing because it reminded him too much of his mother's favourite hobbies. A _woman's_ hobby.

He glanced at Goyle's parchment and snorted before he could stop himself. The buffoon had drawn what seemed to be a square with _pubes_ coming out of it. The offended look Goyle had sent him edged his laughter out.

He laughed. He couldn't stop himself.

Crabbe looked oddly at him and he didn't blame the Slytherin; Draco rarely laughed. He then looked at Goyle's drawing and noticing what he had noticed, Crabbe snickered. Goyle's face adopted a discreet shade of red.

Breathing in and out, Draco resumed snickering at Goyle.

"Ok, then what is _yours_ like?"

He proudly turned his half finished drawing to Goyle's and Crabbe's eyes and his confidence was renewed when the former frowned before turning back to his 'portrait', furiously scratching it away.

Crabbe had not taken the lesson seriously and his parchment was blank except for a few doodles of cauldrons and what he suspected was Snape.

_Guess his potion hadn't turned that well at the end... _

Hagrid had been strolling around to glance at his students' work and he stopped when he noticed Goyle's scratched shameful attempt.

"Aw, come on lad, ya sure can do better than that!" He did not pat Goyle on the back because he was not a _Gryffindor. _When Hagrid turned his eyes on him, he scowled at the half breed and quickly pried the drawn parchment away from the brown eyes. His work was unfinished and if the half giant wanted to look at his work he might as well sit and wait for he was not going to give it to him unless it was completely finished.

The professor did not insist and continued nosing in his students' work toward Potter's sitting place.

He had taken a few lessons in some of the seven arts when he had been bored at the Malfoy Manor. And his mother, noticing her son's sulking face, had taken upon herself to teach him a little here and there on painting.

He did remember sorely when he had drawn a family portrait at the age of 6 and ran to his father when he had arrived home to push the drawing in the strong hands with an expectant grin on his face. He had painted with crayons the front of the Manor and his mother sitting at an outside coffee table drinking tea and his father reading the _Daily Prophet_ and him...

He did not remember what he had drawn himself doing, but he did remember with an ache that his father's lips had almost turned upwards before he had frowned at him.

He had felt crushed that day and the emotion was still there when he remembered Lucius telling his mother to stop teaching him useless subjects and let him concentrate on learning the Dark Arts so he could properly serve the Dark Lord.

_The Dark Lord_...

He glanced at Crabbe and Goyle. They all had the same future to follow, bowing down to one man and kiss the hem of his robes for the rest of their lives... Kill in his name, live for his name, suffer for his cause... He and the two boys on his right were bound in a way, sharing the same gruesome destiny.

He must had been engrossed in his thoughts for quite a while for the next thing he knew was Hagrid dismissing the class, collecting the finished drawings and leaving those uncompleted as homework.

Of course he had finished his work and thus was homework free.

* * *

He noticed with dull interest the tea leaves in his cup. He found it silly how some people believed in tea leaf reading. _Of course_ Trelawney did. And so did some of the Hufflepuffs.

_What a bunch of poufs_.

Some female Hufflepuffs were bracing themselves over their tea cups completely absorbed in reading their leaves for things which _were just not there_. And most obviously, Trelawney was encouraging their paranoia.

He frowned and was about to transfigure his cup into a mouse and let it loose around the classroom but stopped when he saw Crabbe pouring himself another cup of tea.

"Fill me one." He ordered his _friend_ while he held the cup to reaching distance of Crabbe's hands. The brown eyes looked at him for a moment and accepted the cup with a snicker before pouring the charmed hot water from the white ceramic teapot.

"Here."

He accepted the tea with a nod and reclined in his chair further on, slouching like he would never allow himself in the presence of his parents. Whom he admittedly missed...

He sipped his second cup of tea quietly, enjoying the bitterness of the leave remembering that his future would be just as bitter. He saw from the corner of his eyes that Bulstrode was staring at him_ again_ like she had during lunch and during Hagrid's class.

He sent her a sneer and she quickly sputtered and looked away from him with yet another gruesome blush.

What was it about him that seemed to attract more attention lately? He hadn't changed his hairstyle neither had anything about his personality except that he felt more relaxed lately. He felt that he could stretch his legs under the desk, pop his neck from side to side, yawn without covering his mouth and just let himself _be_.

He did notice he wouldn't have allowed his posture to slack to this point yesterday, but today he just _felt_ like it. There was no one complaining either way...

"Yeah, right, sunshine and happiness in your rear, Vincent."

"What is it?" Draco asked _Gregory_.

"Crabbe here has _read_ my leaves and supposedly he sees a sun in them." Goyle had turned to Crabbe with a mocking smirk on his square face.

"Oh, bollocks to all of this." Crabbe put Goyle's teacup on the desk with more force than necessary.

"What did you expect from Trelawney's classes? A _prophetic revelation_?" He smirked at them and rose from the chair, his cup in his hand as he walked towards the Slytherins. He coughed once and set his voice in a higher pitch.

"Oh, dreadful, very dreadful indeed, my dear boy." He blinked owlishly as he dipped his fingers in his own leaves and set his mouth into a mocking frown. "I _see_ dark clouds in your future and..." he paused for effect and drew his eyebrow together into a horrified expression as his voice trembled. "... you will experience unimaginable tortures and..." He gasped. "... D-death!" He almost squealed the last word.

The two Slytherins had to cover their mouths so the laughter wouldn't reach the professor's ears. He too joined them after a while. Laughter was just... contagious sometimes.

He turned to the basket of fresh leaves and picked a new cup before pouring himself fresh tea. He did realize if he kept on drinking that much he would have to run to the bathroom sooner or later. And he would make sure the bathroom he was going to use would be the one Weasley had to clean.

_Oh the fun_.

"And what have you been able to glimpse of your own futures, students?" Trelawney's wavering voice might have been target of humour but as classes had dragged on it got to the point where it was getting on his nerves.

Goyle had mumbled something about 'loony bat' under his breath but gladly the teacher didn't seem to understand. "Come again, dear?"

"Nothing, _professor_." Goyle spoke louder this time.

"Nothing? But you've had plenty of time to dab into the wonders of tea leaf reading..." She looked from Goyle to him in a confused fashion. When she spotted him sipping his _third_ cup of tea she frowned sadly.

"Give me your cup, dear." He quirked one eyebrow in her direction but nonetheless, he passed his finished tea to her.

"Oh my!" She whispered harshly under her breath. Yet he was not impressed. But Crabbe and Goyle were curious as to what she would invent next.

She dipped her fingers into the cup as if she wanted to touch the leaves but she quickly stopped herself. Her ridiculously amplified eyes snapped into his own.

"As much as it pains me to have this ability it is my duty to pass on the message..." He rolled his eyes at her. Bloody woman, wouldn't she just face she had no _ability_ whatsoever?

"Your leaves show a cross." She continued to stare at him with _pity _as if he would know the consequences of having a cross in his leaves. _Yeah, right..._

"It's a sign that stands for 'trials and suffering', Mr. Malfoy. I know it is hard to accept, especially someone as young as you, but you only need to stay strong in mind and embrace your future." She _dared_ to pat him on his shoulder and shake her head in resentment at his _destiny_.

He was glad she had walked away else he would have thrown the porcelain cup at her face.

Crabbe and Goyle's snickering was silenced by his cold glare.

The trio resumed to writing their 'futures' in their parchments and Draco used as much creativity and flourish he could muster and by the end of it he was almost sure he would be Trelawney's new favourite.

* * *

"It's weird really. I mean, not _weird_ but" Goyle was looking at him "she looks at you more than before and I mean, it's not like the Slytherin chicks don't admire your looks but she just _stares_ at you sometimes."

He rolled his eyes. "Yes, I've noticed Goyle. I'm not as thick as you." So his companions had noticed Bulstrode's renewed interest in him. Yet none of them had an explanation as to _why_.

He stretched his arms above his head and received an odd look from Goyle.

"What?"

"You seem more... loose." He lifted his elegant dark eyebrow in question.

"I don't know, it's just that you're not as tense as before and... not like I'm complaining." Goyle quickly shut his mouth at the dark look he received.

"_Whatever_, Goyle." He stopped next to the bathroom's door and waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. "I'll meet you in the common rooms."

They both nodded and turned their backs to walk to the stairs leading to the dungeons.

Dinner had filled his bladder and he needed to quickly relieve himself. He strode in the male's loo and saw a first year coming out of one of the stalls. He sneered at the small boy no doubt frightening him from the way the kid made himself scarce after noticing his prefect badge.

He unzipped his uniform pants and sighed in relief.

He walked to one of the sinks and washed his hands using the apple scented soap no doubt provided by the Headmaster. Why did soap have to be related to _fruit_?

He was about to walk to the door when he heard an argument moving toward the bathroom he was in. He recognized the loudest voice belonging to Weasley and he wasted no time in closing himself into one of the stalls. But before that...

He waved his wand at 3 other stalls and closed them so as not to bring attention to his hiding place.

Locking the door, he closed the toilet lid and climbed on it, waiting for any sounds. He would wait until the other person whom Weasley was arguing with to leave and he would corner the little bugger alone.

"-at the hell do you mean you'll tell Dean, Seamus?" His eyebrow lifted in curiosity.

"Oh stop pretending, Ron! Even Parkinson saw you that night!" This was interesting... What had Pansy seen?

"_Shh_, are you daft? What if someone's _here_?" His eyes widened for a moment when he heard bathroom stalls being unlocked and doors banging against the walls as they were opened. No doubt they'd catch him eavesdropping, crouched on the toilet seat in a very un-Malfoy manner.

_Quick, think._ An invisibility spell? Yes, yes that would do. He quickly tapped his wand on the top of his head and felt as if someone had cracked an egg open on it.

The last thing he could do when the door was swung open was to hope that the disillusionment charm had worked and he would pass unnoticed.

He saw Seamus scanning quickly inside the bathroom stall and as the blue eyes fell on his grey ones he soundlessly sucked in a breath. Had he been discovered? _Oh shit_. Seamus raised his wand and his heart started to pound.

But the Gryffindor moved on to the next door and completely ignored his invisible figure. He quietly let out a shuddering breath he had been holding. He remained glued to the same crouching position, afraid he might bump into something and foolishly give away his presence.

"No one's here, Weasley." It seemed the inspection had ended.

"Oh so now it's _Weasley_..." He heard feet moving on the white tiles of the bathroom closer to the boy who was on the opposite end of him near a sink. The red head came into view and he noticed the Weasel was quite tall for his age just like himself, but he was sure _Ron_ had some extra centimetres on him. He sneered in distaste.

But his expression quickly faltered when he saw Weasley's hand caress Finnigan's cheek in a much too _intimate_ gesture. _What in Salazar's name was going on?_

"You know how the wizarding population looks upon people like _us_, Ron... Poofs, queers, tosspots..." His stomach turned when both Gryffindors exchanged _meaningful_ looks.

"Besides, you have _Granger_. She likes you, Ron."

Merlin's beard! Ronald Weasley played for both sides. He didn't know which one was worse... Being a _poof_ or a... was there even a word to describe how vile Weasley was?

He was proved wrong when he saw the repulsive red head leaning down to meet Seamus' ear and whisper something which he was glad he did not hear. His stomach turned in knots when he witnessed for the first time in his life two males kissing. He thought he was going to be sick.

Weasley and Finnigan were _snogging_ in the boys' loo in front of him. He closed his eyes quickly and his face warmed when he heard a moan and perverse sounds from their exchange of mouth fluids.

After what he thought was the longest three minutes of his life, he dared to open his eyes.

He never felt more relieved when he saw Finnigan disappearing out of his eyes' range.

"I... I wish for it to work, Ron. But while you have Granger as a scapegoat I have no one to turn to in case it doesn't." He heard a door being opened and closed promptly, which left him and the brooding Weasel alone.

Had it been this what Pansy had witnessed? This vile, gruesome exchange of saliva between the two? He cringed at the fresh memories.

As he saw Weasley moving out to use one of the urinals, his mind quickly formed a plan. He could have the Weasel on this for the rest of his life.

"Stop."

He was satisfied when he heard a harsh intake of breath and saw Weasley jump on his spot. The red head darted behind his shoulder, searching with frightened eyes for the source of his voice.

He smirked and waved his unicorn hair core and hawthorn wood wand over his body slowly as he revealed himself before the green eyes which were growing in horror as he finally assessed the gravity of the situation.

His victorious smirk was still plastered on his face.

"Y-you... but Seamus..." The red head shook his head. "You had **no** right! There is no way–"

"No way that I could cast a _simple_ disillusionment charm... _Ron_?" His inner glee peaked when Weasley was mixed between becoming surprised that the blond could perform advanced magic or fear that he had fallen into the snake's belly.

He took two steps to his right, turned on his heel and paced three more times before stopping and facing the Gryffindor.

"You do understand the position you are in, Weasel?" He quirked his eyebrow in an arrogant manner feeling quite powerful in his shoes. "I know your biggest secret, your most horrible fear and you..." he roamed his eyes up and down the tall body some steps away from him, noting the way it seemed to lose all confidence.

"... have _nothing_ on me." He emphasized the word for dramatic purposes. He gripped his wand tighter when the mud green eyes flared at him threateningly.

"If you think you have anything on me, _Malfoy_, you are sorely mistaken." He took two steps backwards as Weasley started to advance on him, all traces of fear gone from his demeanour.

"Back off, Weasley. I'm not a queer like Finnigan... or **you**." The corner of his lips quirked upwards when Weasley's eyes showed he had stricken a sensitive spot. The red head faltered in his advancing steps.

"It doesn't matter what you think, Malfoy. Who would believe _you_? You, who spreads rumours like Rita Skeeter and whose words hold as much value as hers do. You think anyone will take you seriously when you accuse one of the people you most hate? You think people are as stupid as you, Malfoy?"

Draco frowned as he realized that Weasley had a point. Who would believe him without solid proof? He had no photograph, no video, nothing recorded of their... interaction. His frown grew as Weasley's confident strides backed him up to a wall.

The extra few centimetres the red head had on him were even more prominent when they were so _close_.

He didn't feel the cold tiles of the wall thanks to his uniform but the sensation of being forced on that position sunk heavily in him. There was only but one step between him and the Weasley and he did not remember ever being this close to the blood traitor. Breathing the same air was oppressive.

Weasley eyed him continuously and he noticed the other could see his discomfort.

"You are stupid yourself, Weasley, if you think to underestimate me. A pensieve and an authentic memory would do the trick." His infamous Malfoy sneer was back on his pale face. He crossed his arms.

"What made you so certain I could not have _solid_ proof of your perverse activities with your fellow Gryffindor?" He basked in the way the Weasley had been affected when called perverse. Yet he would not be able to fool himself; his Manor had a pensieve but it would be impossible to bring it to Hogwarts and how would he get hundreds of students to watch his memory? They were just empty threats, but they did their job.

He inspected his nails in an uninterested fashion. "I could let the other Gryffindors flourish you with other adjectives, I am sure they would do a wonderful job. Especially your roommates, Weasley, think how they would act toward you when they find out they've been ogled at during the night by none other than Potter's best _friend_."

He saw the other lowering his red head to stare at his shoes, his hands clenching in tight fists at his sides. He was _angry_.

"Could it be...?" Draco almost whispered. "Could it be that you and _Potter_ have shared more than the room you slee–"

Weasley punched the wall near the right side of his head. His accusations stopped immediately. Pissing him off was not a good idea. He was not one to get too physical in duels. Quidditch had given him good reflexes but when it came to brute strength, one did not have to think twice.

"You. will. **not**. speak of Harry that way, Malfoy," and yet again he found himself in the same position he had been two days ago when they duelled. With lightning speed, Weasley had him by the front of his shirt.

"... I will not allow it." Weasley uncharacteristically sneered back at him. _The fucking prat. _

He uncrossed his arms as the red head stabbed a wand into his ribs. He looked incredulously in the green eyes.

"How _dare_ you lay your hands on me you filthy blood traitor _queer_..."

He saw the punch aimed at his jaw before he could avoid it. The hand on his collar did not leave him and his head only snapped to the side.

He spat the blood on the white floor, staining it with a strong contrasting colour. He turned to glare at the fucker who had dared to mark his face. With quick reflexes he brought his wand under the red head's chin stabbing the soft flesh with it.

"Careful, Weasel, you would not want me to show you a _thing_ or two on how to _properly_ use magic, would you?" The underlining mention of the Dark Arts did not pass unnoticed by the Gryffindor. And seconds before he finished his threat he brought his knee up to meet painfully with his opponent's crotch.

He was sure that _that _must have seriously hurt when the red head let him go and buckled forwards in what few relief he could give to his privates.

"How – underhanded... of you – Malfoy." He was satisfied that the pain had been so excruciating the Gryffindor had to gasp between the sentence.

He sneered down on him.

"Do not touch me with your dirty hands, Weasley." He borrowed Pansy's words. Pointing his wand to his jaw he murmured '_episkey_' under his breath, a small healing charm that would close the bleeding inner cheek and prevent the purpling and swelling of where he had been hit.

"Your muggle ways of duelling do not surprise me. You've always associated with them, isn't that right? _Granger_ being one of them." He smirked coldly at the green glare.

"Be glad I have yet to use any serious spells on you, _Ronald_" he spat the name "else you'd find yourself whimpering and snivelling at my feet."

The red head tried to stand upright but still staggered from the pain.

"What? Are you going to use _Dark Magic_ inside Hogwarts? You think Dumbledore won't be alerted of it?"

"Would you like to put it to test, Weasel?" He circled the harshly breathing red head, his wand twirling elegantly in his right hand. "I do remember one... ah yes, how about the _Imperius_ curse?" He stared coldly at Weasley who had managed to straighten himself. Pointing his wand at the Gryffindor, he never faltered in his stare, showing how serious he was. "I could make you admit to the whole school on your... _preferences_; now there, you think anyone would doubt it if it came personally from you?"

"An _Unforgivable_, Malfoy?" Weasley was incredulous. "And why do you think you can cast an _Unforgivable_ and make it work?" It was his opponent's turn to cross his arms.

"And why do you think I cannot?" He stopped in his steps and looked uninterested at the face opposite to him.

"Why, because..."

When he saw Weasley turn his wand on him he acted instinctively before he could think.

"_Confringo!_" He was the first to attack out of the two and whatever incantation the Weasley had on his mind had died on his lips when he smartly ducked out of the curse's way. It hit the sink behind him and he visualized with pleasure as it was blasted completely, bits and pieces flying in the air.

"Are you out of your fucking _mind_, Malfoy?" He stared unaffected into the wide fearful green eyes.

"No, as a matter of fact, I've never been _in_ my mind as I am now. You see–"

He was interrupted by an _impedimenta_ aimed at his chest. He braced himself to be fully thrown backwards but he blinked when the only thing he felt was an invisible barrier of some sort blocking him from retreating or advancing towards the kneeling Weasley.

He snorted and looked at the red head with a shit eating grin on his face. "What? Was that _it_, Weasley?" He relinquished in the ashamed look the other gave him before he looked at his wand as if blaming the piece of wood for his ridiculously low spell performance.

"... Ever since it was fixed it's never been the same..." He didn't know if that mumbled excuse was for him or for his own consciousness.

"How _utterly_ disappointing, Weasley. Well, not like I had high hopes for you. Let me show you. _Impedimenta_." He felt the dark strong aura of his magic gathering into the spell and he inhaled the perfection of it.

Weasley's eyes opened wide as he failed to dodge the curse due to their close proximity and was hurled back into the broken sink. He heard a crunching sound as the read head landed on the ground with a groan and a wince.

"That is how you use the spell correctly, Weasley." He started walking with slow deliberate steps toward the fallen Gryffindor. He stopped when he saw something stain his dark robes an even darker shade and frowned.

"For the love of– Can't you even land _correctly_? Just how you have survived as a wizard I have no idea." He waved his hand, concentrating hard on healing a more serious wound than which the spell was intended for.

"_Episkey._" He said in a clear voice so the Weasel would feel ashamed of being _healed_ by the enemy. He saw the dark spot stopped spreading over the robes and the sigh the red head gave confirmed his spell had successfully stopped the bleeding.

"You are awfully lucky Weasel for you have found me in one of my most _generous_ moments." He grinned and crouched in front of the sitting student and tapped the tip of his wand on the right freckled cheek.

"And I have yet to use any _meaningful_ spells. You still think you're a match for me, blood traitor?"

The red head coughed before replying. "You think _that_ wasn't _meaningful_, Malfoy? Merlin, just how far are you into Dark Magic?" The Gryffindor looked at him with renewed suspicion and something akin to fear.

"Hmm..." was his only reply. He straightened his back and closed his eyes as his magic now roamed freely over him. He wanted to do _more_, to use slashing curses that would rip skin, he wanted to inflict _pain_.

But he smothered those dangerous urges. He did remember his father warning him of the consequences of the use of Dark Magic, the _hunger_ that the caster felt was a potential to hot headed disaster.

But... He had yet to use any _true_ Dark Magic... he felt intoxicated and somehow it was hard for him to breathe normally... was his magic _asking_, no, _begging_ to be used on dark spells? How could magic _feel_ of its own?

He had to ask father as soon as he could.

"M-Malfoy?" The voice underlined dread.

He looked at the expectant freckled face. "Not a word of what has transpired here, Weasley. Else I'll find myself forced to retail _everything_ that has led to it." Without waiting to hear the comeback, he spun on his heel and strode out of the bathroom, closing the door with an audible 'click'.

He hoped Weasley was not too stupid and would fix the sink before leaving. As for him, he needed to pay the Slytherin common rooms a visit.

* * *

Some of the portrays he had passed on his way to the dungeons had looked at him nervously, some had only glanced at him shortly as if not daring to catch his eye and others whispered furiously between them at his retreating back. _I can still hear you_!

Could portraits sense magic? He somehow doubted they could, after all they were only magical _objects_. How could objects ever _feel_? But this was Hogwarts after all and the Headmaster seemed to like surprising every student and professor with the uniqueness of the castle.

He strolled into the Slytherin common rooms, feeling eyes on him as he had never felt before; hesitant, _fearful _glances. If he doubted paintings could feel magic, he had no doubt _people_ could. He promptly ignored the itch to glare at each one of them and walked straight to where Goyle and Crabbe were reading a magazine about Quidditch in one of the luxurious couches.

They closed the week's issue on how to acquire better reflexes on a broom and both looked worriedly at him.

"You two, follow." He waved for them to come after his retreating back.

They were going to take a _stroll_ outside. He, being a prefect, could use his position to his advantage in case someone braved to question his disregard for the curfew. And none were the wiser to ask him what his _bodyguards_ were doing with him... they were after all bodyguards - useless - but nonetheless bodyguards.

And they were bound to be punished for their unneeded and troublesome existence. He had pushed the day away for far too long. Tonight was the night. And Goyle and Crabbe seemed to know it too if their shivers were proof enough.


	4. For 'friendship'

A/N: No excuse, depression caught me at me not being able to find a job.

* * *

_**"Great talents have some admirers, but few friends."**_

* * *

**Chapter 4**

_**T**_he barriers protecting the castle ended some yards away from the entrance and somehow that night he was able to _feel_ the wards lifting from his chest as he stepped out of them, Goyle and Crabbe behind him.

He was gripping his wand tightly, his magic still excited and restless. He brought them to the lake away from prying eyes and ears and magic sensing wards. On the way to the grounds Crabbe had asked him where they were headed to but when he did not answer, neither of the two had insisted.

He stopped dead in his tracks. Crabbe and Goyle's heavy steps silenced behind him.

Without turning to them he said in a much colder voice than he had intended.

"Any of you has an idea as to _why_ I've brought you here?" He heard some shuffling behind him. His magic shuffled with them. _Excited_ at their panic.

"We don't know, Draco, but we're all ears."

He tilted his head backwards, staring at the dark sky and its bright stars. It was a new moon that night. He inhaled deeply, enjoying the tense atmosphere that dragged on with his action.

He elegantly turned on his heel to face with an indifferent mask his two bodyguards.

"How many points have you cost Slytherin, Crabbe?" He narrowed his eyes at the confused round face of his housemate. Goyle jabbed him lightly in the ribs.

"_The day with the Granger girl, Vincent_." He caught Goyle whispering to his friend and eyes rolled when the Slytherin did not recall the event.

"The day when you ducked out of the way of a hex, saving your own skin and leaving _me_ to take the full blow." He started pacing from side to side, a contemplative look on his face. "The day when you and Goyle duelled against a Mudblood yet **still** lost miserably." He sneered accusatorily at them.

"Not only have you tarnished the name of our House in front of the other teachers but you also managed to get yourselves deducted points." Goyle was frowning at him and Crabbe was mirroring his oaf of a friend.

"It's not like you managed to get better– _ompf_" Goyle was smart enough to jab his friend again. Yet, too late.

"_What_?" He snapped his head in the brunette's direction. "You _dare_ compare me to you? Do you want me to show you the gap between us, _Vincent_?" He hissed, wand pointing at the fat figure that was his fellow Slytherin.

"I-I..." The brown eyes darted fearfully from his face to his threatening wand.

"Do remember that your father – both your fathers – work underneath mine." He waved his wand from Goyle to Crabbe. "And that applies to the two of you."

Their frowns increased and Crabbe glared at his shoes. They knew it was true. They knew he was in a higher position, one of the reasons they were his _bodyguards_, people who blended into the background and where of no importance in society.

He smirked evilly at Goyle.

"And how many points did you lose, Goyle?" His smirk widened when the questioned boy gulped. And he had reasons to be afraid; the three of them were outside the safety of the castle, away from the protecting teachers and even if they mentioned what would take place to their parents it would not matter. Their fathers were low ranking Death Eaters compared to Lucius Malfoy who had always been in the Dark Lord's favour.

Goyle seemed to understand, as for Crabbe... He shifted his eyes to the downcast Slytherin. _He better be aware_.

"Fifty" was the prompt answer.

"_Fifty_..." he repeated, tasting the number on his tongue. He had his audience's full attention now, certainly curious to what he was going to say next.

"... will be the number of seconds each of you will be under the _cruciatus_ as punishment." His magic suddenly flared around him as he felt sadistic pleasure in facing the incredulous gazes his _friends_ gave him back.

"Y-you can't possibly cast an... _Unforgivable_ on Hogwart's grounds. _Are you daft, Malfoy_?" His eyes shone with fury at the insult and something shattered inside him.

He advanced predatorily toward Crabbe.

"Do _**not**_ insult me, ever." His magic pushed against his skin, edging him to cast the _Unforgivable_, to use dark magic, to make others scream in pain, suffer, _bleed_,...

"_Crucio_." As the words left his mouth his whole body shuddered with the overflow of darkness dancing from his fingers to the tip of his wand.

His magic was coming out of him in slow, sensual waves and he concentrated on the feeling of its pure _bliss_. He was so engrossed in his own power that he did not register Goyle running toward his fallen screaming friend, trying to shout over Crabbe's screams for it to stop.

His glazed eyes were half closed and he was now suddenly aware of Crabbe's beating heart, _so fast_ and so erratic one might think he was having a heart attack.

He did not know how long it had been but he knew Crabbe's screaming had stopped shortly after he cast the spell that would have made his father proud. The _Cruciatus_ curse was not easy by any means to perform and the screams had hinted to his success.

Hands on his shoulders were shaking him lightly as they trembled on their own. He snapped his eyes to reality.

Goyle was looking at him with tears in his eyes, his face an ugly horrified expression.

"Draco! How could you? Crabbe is your _friend_!" His mind focused on the unconscious form of Crabbe and then on Goyle who was still shaking him with little strength, betraying how taken aback the boy was.

He pushed the hands away from his shoulders and frowned.

"_Friends_? One can only be delusional to a point, Goyle." Although his voice had sounded steady, the pale hand he brought to flip the blond strands out of his face trembled.

"Be sure not to mention a word of this to anyone else you'll find yourself on the receiving end of my wand as well." He glared warningly into the brown shocked eyes before turning his back and taking large brisk steps towards the castle.

He left Goyle to tend to the fallen Slytherin.

* * *

_Oh shit_ was the mantra playing in his mind as he climbed the steps to the owelry. _Shit_. He had used an _Unforgivable_. On someone who'd live to tell – he'd make sure he wouldn't. On Hogwarts' grounds. Under Dumbledore's all knowing nose.

He grabbed the railing of the stairs as a wave of nausea hit him. Draco shut his eyes as the world turned upside down for a few seconds. What was that feeling? That pain gnawing at his chest, the residual memories playing on his head, Crabbe's screams, Goyle's horrified eyes... _Was it guilt?_

Guilt?

He, Draco Lucius Malfoy, proud heir to the Malfoy fortune and estates, was feeling _guilt_ over rightfully punishing incompetence?

He stared and the wooden door to the owelry and scoffed. _As if_. He hadn't been raised to be humble or modest.

He wasn't that weak, he wasn't; he definitely would not allow himself to be that weak, no...

_What if someone discovers? I know Dumbledore's mind isn't old as he appears. If he finds out he will do everything to put me into Azkaban and I will be the shame of your family; father will despise me, mother will _ignore _me and other pure-bloods will laugh at me for being so foolishly discovered..._

He shook his head as if the gesture would clear it of the nagging critical side of his brain.

_Mother_...

Would she weep? He didn't want to witness his mother's tears, he didn't want to inflict pain and shame on her.

He needed help, that's what he needed. He needed wise words, some sort of guidance, an experienced hand.

And it was in those moments that Draco regretted not having friends in which he could trust. He slammed his fist against the wall and winced at the impact. But he did not nurture his reddening knuckles, no, he needed the pain, he needed to feel some form of punishment for acting rash.

The one person he could completely trust was his mother. If he could talk to her... Well, he couldn't _talk_ to her but he could _write_ to her. Yes! He could.

He pulled his wand out of his robe and closed his eyes, eyebrows furrowing in concentration as he murmured an _accio quill _and an _accio parchment_.

He scanned the room, waiting for a sign that his spells had worked. He slumped against the wall after thirty fruitless seconds. Maybe he was too distressed to summon his magic correctly.

And yet after ten seconds more he saw a quill and a parchment flying towards his sitting place, passing some curious owls on the way.

He grinned at his success. Yet it comically vanished when he thought about what to write...

_Dear mother,_

_I have _cruccioed_ Crabbe tonight but fear not, it was done outside the Castle, near the Forbidden Forest. _

_I now need help in escaping Dumbledore's probable suspicions,_

_Love,_

_Draco. _

_Yea right._

He started writing some lines but every time he tried to progress from the basic introduction of 'dear mother', 'mother', 'beloved mother' he ripped the parchment and crumpled it before tossing it aside.

He banged his head against the wall behind him, once, twice, before giving up on thinking on new ideas. Although, the gesture did help him clear his head.

Umbridge. The woman was probably spying and controlling every single letter that left and entered Hogwarts. If he chose to write now he did not know how to do it in subtle ways that would allow his mother to comprehend the possible situation he was in and yet not giving himself away in Umbridge's eyes.

It did not matter, he told himself. He was fifteen. Two more years and he would be officially considered a man in the Wizarding world. Whatever he had done he would have to make sure it did not reach other people's ears and most definitely wouldn't reach Dumbledore.

Besides, even if it did... Even if it did reach the old man what could he do? Umbridge seemed to have control over the school now and the Headmaster was considered an old loony. Who would believe him if he told to the public that Draco Malfoy had _cruccioed_ at the age of fifteen one of his _beloved_ classmates inside Hogwarts?

Hogwarts would be seen as unsafe and the Headmaster as unreliable, if anyone believed. The majority would go along with the _Daily Prophet_'s opinion on Dumbledore's advancing insanity.

His earlier distress seemed childish now. There was nothing to fear, nothing at all. Classes would be the same, Goyle and Crabbe may resent him and maybe avoid him for a couple of days but everything would be normal and no one would give it a second glance.

Draco pushed himself up and smirked at no one.

Indeed, all was well. He sniffed at the unpleasant odour inside the owelry and strode confidently to the Slytherin dungeons.

_All was well._

* * *

"_What happened to you, Crabbe?"_

Uninterested grey eyes landed on the back of Blaise Zabini's head as said Slytherin inquired his pale and pained bodyguard.

His eyes met with brown for a split of second before he heard Goyle mumble something about Quidditch extracurricular practice gone wrong. He ignored Pansy when she glanced nervously at him from her sitting place near Blaise, most probably indicating the two of them were in some sort of relationship.

_Relationships_. He snorted.

There was no such thing as relationships based on mutual caring and trust. It was all but a fickle fantasy people created in order to deny their own selfishness. Relationships were only established when a person had expectations about someone and they wanted those expectations to be accomplished.

Like hearing the things they wanted to hear, having what they wanted done, getting what they wanted, want, want, want. It was all about each wanting something for themselves.

Like Pansy wanted Draco to reassure her he wouldn't mind if she and Blaise started to date. She might as well wait where she was, sitting. Because he wasn't going to do that any time soon.

He purposely ignored Pansy and Goyle's stares and went to his private dorms.

He was behaving anti-socially but he had been an only child with no one but his mother to talk with. If any of his Slytherin housemates thought about linking Crabbe's condition to him, Draco could retort they had had a 'falling out' that evening.

He stopped in his steps when he saw a white envelope on his bed.

His heart skipped a beat and his chest constricted painfully.

_Could the Ministry keep track of every individual spell cast in Hogwarts? If so, then... then... _

His hands grew colder with each passing minute.

His father! Oh, he could have ruined his father's position in the Ministry of Magic! Scratch that, he could have ruined the whole Malfoy family! The heir casting the _Cruciatus_ curse on one of his fellow students... What more proof would the Ministry need? Arthur Weasley had inquired and insisted on the darkness of his family to the authorities in the Ministry countless times and his foolish actions would give him and others enough substantiation to strip Lucius of position and conduct a thorough search on the Manor.

He realised he had stopped breathing when his heart protested rapidly against his ribcage. Draco's sharp intake of breath did not relieve the pressure swirling around in his body.

With shaky hands he took the white envelope from the bed. He turned the letter around, expecting to see the Ministry's seal but he saw nothing. The back of the letter was blank.

His eyebrows furrowed together in inquiry.

Draco's long fingers ripped the envelope sideways and extracted a white piece of parchment.

He opened it quickly, not able to prolong his anxiety, only to find again no Ministry Seal on the bottom corner of the page, no elaborate signature of a Ministry worker.

As a matter of fact, the letter had no signature. It only ended with a _Yours truly_.

Then what he was holding wasn't what he had feared.

He sighed in relief as he had never done before and he could literally feel the worry being exhaled out of his system.

He sat on his bed before his eyes quickly skimmed through the words. He had always been a quick reader, it came naturally to him. He did not need to strain his eyes to read fast. It was fruit from having always been surrounded by books while he grew up. Words were processed easily by his mind.

_Dearest Draco,_

_I have been secretly witnessing your true measure as a wizard and I find myself not able to contain the desires my mind whispers to me even now. _

_I wish you could honour me with your presence, but wishes are wishes and... _

He stopped reading.

A...

... love letter?

He had been fussing over a ridiculous _love_ letter? It seemed someone wanted to meet him personally, a secret admirer from the look of it, at...

... the lake near the Forbidden Forest.

His eyes widened.

Either the writer was incredibly smart for writing such an inconspicuous letter to unknowing eyes or some plainly stupid girl that made an incredible coincidence with her choice of the meeting place.

He hoped it was the latter but at the same time he did not want to deal with such trivialities. In normal circumstances he would tear the letter apart and use it to fuel the fire in the hearth but he could not shake off the possibility of the first situation.

He would go meet whoever he was intended to meet. The day before classes ended, at night, exactly at 9pm. That was weeks ahead.

* * *

Herbology had never been one of his favourite classes simply because he had to work manually and literally get his hands dirty.

Goyle and Crabbe had remained quiet the entire morning yet they still followed him around like the good bodyguards they were supposed to be.

Professor Sprout was delivering a vivacious speech inside the warm greenhouse which seemed to have been magically warmed to maintain an ideal temperature for the _mandrakes_ to grow.

It was the end of November and the cold had started to make students wear more layers of clothing underneath their uniforms and Draco could see the snowflakes falling from the sky onto the fluffy white ground.

He stopped repotting his second _mandrake_ to watch winter's beautiful display of snow dancing with the wind in a rushed waltz.

Lately he had been feeling a shameless urge to apologize to Crabbe and Goyle, befriend Pansy and Blaise and write to Rita Skeeter that Potter's friend was a queer.

He had dared to answer to one of Snape's retorts in Potions which was quite out of his character; he liked Snape even if sometimes his remarks did tick him off when he misplaced his insults to the whole class, thus including him in the same category with _The Boy Who Lived_.

He had grown quite careless about some of his daily tasks like smoothing out his hair with a brush in the morning because, truth be told, his blond head was almost as wild as Potter's which was the main reason he had not dared to go out like he was now, blond strands ruffled in various directions.

A rebellious hair, fortunately not as much as Potter's.

Herbology had ended with Professor Sprout giving the Slytherin an unusual break from homework but he had to suffer through one of her prolonged warnings on the O.W.L. they had with her at the end of the lecturing year.

* * *

Two more weeks and he would return home, away from Crabbe and Goyle's awkward demeanour around him. They were clearly still reluctant to walk with someone who was okay with casting a _cruccio_ on his _friends_.

"Are you going to keep giving every Slytherin a reason to probe their noses into our _private_ maters or do you want to get past it and resume our _exciting_ daily interaction?"

Crabbe had sputtered and Goyle had murmured between his breath something along the lines of properly apologizing but he could see that a stone had been lifted from their chests when he spoke to them for the first time in a week.

They may not have wanted to admit it but Draco was the closest person they had to a friend. No other Slytherin bothered with their lanky housemates; they weren't gifted in the art of speech or manner and neither were their families of great importance, but Draco admitted that no other family was when compared to the Malfoys.

Goyle nodded with a small knowing smile and Crabbe followed his friend. They knew that that would be the closest to an apology they would ever get from him. When Draco saw the recognition in their eyes...

"I'm sorry" he blurted out quickly before he could stop himself. His grey eyes widened with Goyle's and Crabbe's.

Crabbe smiled a stupid grin and Goyle pat him on the back. "It's okay, mate, we know it wasn't on purpose. You just lost control."

Draco bit his lip, a bit too shocked to say anything else and refraining from admitting that he had intended it with all the magic in his body.

"Care for a pumpkin juice, Draco?" Crabbe offered at the Slytherin dinner table, a poor attempt at camaraderie.

Out of the corner of his eyes he caught a glimpse of Blaise passing his goblet to Parkinson who accepted it with a giggle. _Sharing cups_.

"No thanks." He said quickly before he lost his entire appetite. He stared at his plate full of ribs and potatoes and he realized with an enormous curiosity how he hadn't been a big meat eater like Goyle and Crabbe were. His father hadn't been one either. Genetic, maybe?

He pushed what he considered a low quality meal out of his way and opted for the pumpkin pie which was conveniently placed near his goblet of pumpkin juice. Was everything in Hogwarts made of pumpkin...?

"Want to play chess later, Draco? Crabbe here hasn't proved to be much of a challenge..." He smirked at the offended expression on said boorish player.

"Sure. Whoever loses will have to do Divination's homework for a week." He grinned at Goyle's reluctant eyes. "Scared, Goyle?"

"You wish." He was hit by a sense of déjà vu at his bodyguard's reply.

"All right, students, line up for the counting." McGonagall's voice did little to warm the dozens of fifth year students who were shivering from the cold of winter.

* * *

It was the last Hogsmeade week-end before the start of the holidays and he was glad to attend it. Classes had resulted in pilling homework for the Christmas holidays and every teacher seemed to be more attentive to their wand and quill performances through essays and practical lessons. Charms had been easy; his magic seemed to have matured with him every single day since he had cast the _cruccio_.

He had yet to feel anything more reinvigorating.

He could not wait to go home where he could simply relax in his bedroom and eat the Malfoy's quality meals and... maybe meet _Him_. Would his father allow it?

His bodyguards were next to him as he walked the streets of Hogsmeade and he was raised from his musings when Goyle shouted 'watch out!' and pushed him to the side with surprising reflexes.

A bit dazed and feeling undignified sitting on his bum in the middle of the street where a small crowd was gathering, Draco was about to throw Goyle a snarky insult when he noticed the fellow Slytherin was panting as if he had been playing Quidditch just one minute ago.

"Are you okay?"

He didn't reply but he understood everything when he saw two broken flower pots surrounded by a significant amount of snow. He looked at the roof of the residential house and quickly gathered that a massive amount of snow had given into gravity and pushed some of the pots which had been placed on the edge of the last veranda.

A bit dangerous if someone had not been attentive to the noise and signs of the unpreventable.

"Mommy is that pretty boy okay?" A small witch asked as her green eyes were fixed on him with fascination. Her mother shushed her and took her away from the crowd that gathered around the three Slytherins.

He lifted himself from the ground in the most elegant way he could muster under such circumstances and blatantly walked away from the scene. He had stopped enjoying being the centre of attention since he was twelve.

"Hey, Draco, are you ok? Did any of the shards hurt you?"

He noticed for the first time the small cut on the back of his hand yet he waved at Goyle dismissively. "It's fine, nothing a man can't handle."

"No, don't follow me. You stay near me all the time in Hogwarts, this is my free time. And yours. So go do whatever you want to do." He stared at them, hoping his order had been clear enough.

Goyle and Crabbe exchanged looks and shrugged at the same time as if they were telepathic twins. "We can't go now, not after what could have happened."

"Just _go. _**Now**." He glared, daring them to defy his orders again. When he saw reluctance in their eyes he crossed his arms and intensified his scrutiny. In a game of wills Draco would always appear on top and it seemed his bodyguards knew it too because Goyle sighed and Crabbe was excited to do something freely for once in a while.

"Good." He turned his back on them and expected them not to follow him, like they had been instructed.

He felt like drinking something strong, stronger than the warm _water_ that Potter and _Queezly_ called as butterbeer. _The Three Broomsticks _was out of option since that's where all the Gryffindors went to and Madam Rosmerta would never sell a student firewhisky.

His only other option made him feel dirty just when he thought about it. The _Hog's Head_ was grimy and filled with every other walking type of scum.

And yet again he felt _adventurous_ as he walked to the precise pub his mother would have a heart attack if she ever saw him entering.

He stood reluctantly at the door for a full of four seconds before he decided he should just enter in case someone had seen him squirming like an eleven year old.

The door creaked louder than the old bell that announced the presence of a new costumer. Draco didn't dare to inhale deeply the scent of musky ceilings and dusty floorboards.

He kept his composure, maybe his back had been a little too stiff when he sat on the old stool at the bar, and he felt as if every single pair of eyes were fixated on the nape of his neck from the moment he had stepped inside.

The barkeeper turned to him while wiping a mug with a dirty rag and asked him in a grunt. "What is a young lad like yourself wanting from a place like this?"

He fixed the man in the eyes and said casually as if it was customary of him to get what he wanted.

"Firewhisky, please." He added the pleasantries to ease the old man's frown.

The man stopped wiping the mug and stared directly into Draco's unfazed grey stare. He didn't back down. He felt as if he was being evaluated if he was worthy enough to drink his liquor. Just for emphasis, he leaned back on the stool and lifted his eyebrows in a questioning manner.

"Aren't you still wearing school robes, lad?" The barkeeper resumed wiping the mug thus further dirtying it.

"From the looks of it I'd say you're in need of clientele, _sir_."

The old man squinted his left eye at him.

"If not, I shall take my galleons someplace else..." To prove he was serious he turned around and stood up. And at that moment he heard a thud on the bar surface. Turning around, Draco was faced with a surprisingly clean whisky glass.

He put his left hand in his pocket to fetch some galleons but the barkeeper put a hand on middle air and said "on the house, lad. Not many young costumers in this old place." He added to ease Draco's questioning frown.

"In one shot." The barkeeper advised him as if knowing it would be Draco's first time drinking firewhisky.

He saw a snicker on his right and he turned his blond head in the direction of a hooded man who was sulking near the window with a dirty mug. Draco sneered at him not feeling at all intimidated by the run down appearance or dark aura that lingered around the tavern and its customers.

He grabbed the glass and drank the burning liquid in two gulps. One shot. He placed the empty glass on the counter and after five seconds of waiting he started thinking that the barkeeper had given him something else.

The alcohol finally registered on his nerve endings and a searing light of warmth spread across his body and his stomach felt as if it were on fire. He was about to gasp at the sensation when it abruptly ended.

His face was warm and he hoped his cheeks weren't red from the temperature difference between the firewhisky and outside.

He was poured another one without a word and he drank it again in one shot. He didn't feel any psychological difference, not more loose or relaxed or anything; the only reminder that he had drunk it was the warmth that spread to his toes.

He tossed some galleons on the bar and walked away from the uninviting atmosphere of the pub feeling a bit disappointed that his first firewhisky had been so anticlimactic.

He had expected to feel his whole body on fire, to feel his skin and throat burning but he didn't. Everything seemed to bore him lately. School, Goyle, Crabbe, everyone and everything. Nothing was appealing expect for the end of the term and him going home so he could practice wandless magic.

Maybe he would be able to cast the simplest spells at the end of the winter holidays. If he could, he would be untraceable by the Ministry. The possibility excited him.

Would he be able to cast a _cruccio_ without a wand?

He walked out of the pub with a smirk.

And came to face Bulstrode and two of her Slytherins friends who seemed expectant and wary of him.


	5. The fifth pawn

A/N: I'm so very happy that you like Draco as much as I do. And finally, I have finalized the boring part of the story and I can continue onto the one that got me started on this fic. Thank you all for reviewing, you are all but an inspiration and motivation to me.

* * *

**" A person often meets his destiny on the road he took to avoid it" **

_Jean de La Fontaine_

* * *

**Chapter 5**

**_"_**_**H**_ello, Malfoy." Bulstrode greeted him with a nervous nod and he lifted an impatient eyebrow at the overweight female. "Can I talk to you?"

"Cut it short, Bulstrode." His voice was frigid. If Bulstrode thought that having two of her friends near her when speaking to the infamous Draco Malfoy was a reassurance she was in for an unpleasant surprise.

"What I've to say is..." he watched as she struggled to find the appropriate vocabulary with her reduced brain; God, couldn't she be less stereotypical?

His expression betrayed his thoughts. "... Something concerning Umbridge and it shouldn't be said outside where Gryffindors could overhear us. Can we go someplace else?"

"Make it quick!" His brusque reply was harsh and the Slytherin females recoiled. Dare they waste his free time?

Bulstrode's head spun to the left and to the right as if pondering what establishment to enter. "How about Hogshead?" Without waiting for a reply, Bulstrode went past him and opened the door before he could protest against her choice.

He decided to humour the overweight girl and follow her steps which were leaving deeper marks in the snow than any of the others around her. Her friends giggled when he turned his back on their insignificance and he remembered how used he was to girls' stares and their fanning over him that he had grown oblivious to it most of the time.

What he actually desired was for them to keep away from him until he deliberately approached them thus deciding if they were worthy of his attention. He disliked the frequent glances he got on the street from younger females and the older women, which purely disturbed him.

He didn't bother with cordiality so he went ahead of the two Slytherins and did not hold the door for them. Chivalry had been taught by his mother since he was small, always stressing the fact that a man should be cordial to women and a gentleman to the ladies. But _these_ were not ladies.

He had never seen his father raise a hand against his wife and he didn't remember his mother giving him a reason to. If he was to marry, he wanted a peaceful marriage like his parents had.

Again, the door creaked louder than the bell rang when Bulstrode stepped inside the dirty tavern.

This time, he noticed, the same men were still in the same places as before but they did not turn to leer at the three females... _two_ females, Bulstrode did not count as one. He had expected some catcalls or other animalistic behaviour; females weren't usual in this run down establishment, were they?

He didn't wait for Bulstrode to choose the table, he simply sat gracefully on a chair in the far corner of the tavern and they followed as expected.

He tapped his fingers on the table to signal his impatience and stopped not long after. The table was _dusty_. With a frown he discretely wiped his hand on his robes.

"So?"

Bulstrode glanced between her friends whom were seated on each side of her and a little too close to him. "I thought you'd know if I mentioned Umbridge..."

He rolled his eyes at her unfounded assumption. "Know what?"

"Well..." Again, she exchanged looks with her companions before speaking to him. _Females and their telepathic powers. _"It's rumoured that Umbridge will start some sort of an organization formed by the students she sees as trustworthy and fit for the role."

"An organization? For what?" He furrowed his brows in scepticism at Bulstrode.

"I don't know for sure but it's called something along the lines of Inquisitorial Squad..." He snorted at the name. How typical of Umbridge that called herself the High Inquisitor of Hogwarts to create her own small group of underlings named after her «title».

"What is it for and why are you telling me this?"

If there was such a thing as a blush being capable of deforming someone's face, Bulstrode was pulling it off easily. He sneered at the distasteful sight.

"Well, she approached me and Victoria and Laura" she pointed at each one "and asked if I wanted to join. Then she asked who else I would recommend in the group."

"... And I assume you pointed her to me?" He groaned and brought his hand to his face at Bulstrode's nod. "Why would you think I would **want** anything to do with Umbridge?"

Bulstrode seemed to freeze for a moment and he read her idiotic thoughts. "I didn't think about that..."

He sighed at her lack of IQ and resisted the urge to throw her an insult that would no doubt leave her scarred for a few months. "Why would she even go to you in the first place...?" he mumbled the rhetorical question.

"She said women were more observant." He stared at her for a minute, trying to use telepathy like females somehow did, wishing he could transmit his thoughts on how she definitely did not possess any positive female attributes.

"I doubt you came here only to tell me that you've doomed me into more proximity to that woman."

Bulstrode bit her lower lip which was thin and very unappealing, he noticed. "It's only after the start of the new term but, she wants you to go talk to her about the Squad. I came to pass the message only."

He sighed again. Even though Bulstrode had thrown him into the fire that was Umbridge, there was the bright side that it was a delayed fire that awaited him. One week more and he'd be in his cosy home, away from the idiots that surrounded him in Hogwarts.

Bulstrode gave him a yellow unattractive smile and suggested they drank a couple of butter bears to warm themselves up. With only a roll of the eyes for an answer he rose noiselessly from the uncomfortable chair and walked out of Hogshead, lowering 3 Slytherin females' self-esteem.

* * *

It was the last day of the first term and he didn't remember ever feeling livelier. His trunk had been packed the night before and he had been probably the first one to do so for the students around his table were complaining about having to pack their belongings after dinner.

_The last day of the term..._ His fingers stilled in their drumming against the table and his eyes opened in realization. The last day of the term! _The letter_! He had forgotten about it since he had been receiving some fan mail from his admirers, their frivolous attempts to coax him into inviting them to the Malfoy's New Year's ball or to his bed.

It was a tradition he had not enjoyed much but he attended it at his father's orders to keep the appearance of a strong family bond to outsiders. He also liked to see how his mother appeared to glow with excitement when organizing the guests' list, the beverages, the appetizers, the invitation letters...

The grey in his eyes softened at the thought of seeing his mother again.

"Tired, Draco?" He suppressed the need to roll his eyes at the ruined moment and answered to Crabbe's oblivious question.

"Maybe of you, Crabbe." He rose from the table and exited the Great Hall, leaving his housemates to their boorish conversations and gossip. He smirked when he overheard a female Slytherin badmouthing Parkinson's switch of lovers.

He was about to walk to the dungeons when he remembered that he had to satisfy his curiosity. The one who sent him the letter didn't ask of him any favours nor did the sender profess undying love or any type of sexual innuendos.

When people wanted anything from Draco Malfoy it either had something to do with his looks or with the money on his name. So he was a bit curious, he admitted. He wanted to know what other alternatives existed to those two.

The ground was full of snow, December had made its presence clear in the grounds of Hogwarts. The cold was bearable but the freezing snow permeated through his boots and into his toes and he winced at the feeling of walking on needles.

He felt his wand inside the left pocket, not really knowing if he needed it at hand or not. But prevention and alertness had never been the death of anyone.

He scanned the trees around him and a shiver travelled down his spine when he stared into the darkness deep ahead in the forest. His ears picked the sound of a gentle breeze travelling through the leaves, the rustling not as comforting as he wished it to be.

He waited for some sort of sound that would alert the presence of a newcomer, a blushing female accompanied by her friends who would most certainly encourage her to profess her faithful devotion to him and whatnot.

After what seemed like fifteen minutes of waiting standing straight and still, he exhaled and he sat on the cold boulder near the edge of the lake. Maybe he came too soon? It had been written for after dinner...

He yawned and stretched his legs, wondering why he was waiting so long for a bloody _admirer_. He had better things to do, like sleeping. He yawned again.

He tilted his head back so he could mindlessly watch the dark sky. Strangely, there were no stars... only the faint light of the crescent moon illuminating the castle's walls.

Creepy enough, the forbidden forest and the lake seemed to be covered in eternal darkness.

How peculiar it was... no matter the disposition, whenever he was in a setting of stilled nature his mind started to wonder to ridiculous questions that only toddlers voiced over and over to their parents.

Was there an end to the Universe? Why was the Universe created? Why were humans and animals and trees and plants and bacteria created? Why, why, why. Silly Muggle questions.

No doubt wizards were much superior to muggles but if he thought about it, they were made of the same type of flesh, same type of bones and blood; one might think the only difference between them was that one could use magic and the other not.

Why could wizards use magic and why could muggles not? Anatomically, what made them so differe–

A branch cracked to his right.

His eyes snapped open and he stopped breathing. He did not dare to move so as to give away his location.

He only allowed his eyes to shift; he did not even turn his head.

The darkness was overwhelming now, how long had it been since he had sat on the stone? His rear was numb.

Something moved in the corner of his right eye. _Don't move, don't breathe, don'.. _

A small black shadow jumped a few meters ahead of him and he gave a started yell while he scrambled to his feet away from it, backing closely to the lake.

He opened his eyes wider as if it allowed him to see better in the dark. He snatched his wand quickly from his robe and in his distress he had to whisper _lumos_ for the spell to work.

And then he stopped.

He tilted his head to the side and snorted at his silly behaviour.

A wild rabbit, which was more scared of him than he was of it, fled the moment he stepped forward.

That was the last drop. He was done with waiting for an insignificant idiot who made him linger out in the cold.

He brushed his robes before he started walking toward Hogwart's Castle which looked far safer than what his temporary paranoia led him to believe the outside grounds were.

The moment he gave his fourth step his feet glued together and he fell to the ground like a rock and yet when he wanted to prevent any harm to his face he found out that his arms were bound to his sides.

He turned his head to the side, avoiding the impact of the ground on his nose. He was thankful for the snow that cushioned the fall that would have been painful otherwise.

His wand, where was his wand? He had been holding it a few seconds ago! Unless it fell on the ground, now lost in the massive obscured snow.

Steps were given away by the protesting snow as someone walked toward him.

Who was it? Who could it be? Who would _dare_ attack a Malfoy on the back? A Slytherin perhaps? But who? Blaize? Would Blaize want to prove something to himself if he defeated the previous lover of Parkinson? Would the Slytherin dare go so far just for a mere female?

That didn't make sense!

Crabbe and Goyle would never dare attack _him_ for they still thought of him as their _precious _friend and they were his bodyguards.

His eyes widened in recognition.

**Weasley**! Yes, that would be possible, he should have expected some sort of revenge from the defeated Gryffindor.

The steps were getting closer to him but Weasley still didn't talk. Maybe he didn't want to give himself away, thinking he could escape unidentified?

He growled low in his throat when a pair of dark shoes appeared in front of his eyes. _That little queer of a Gryffindor dares to attack me?_

He wanted to express his outrage with colourful insults but he only managed to growl a second time.

The shoes didn't move. He tried to look upwards at the tall figure that was standing, no doubt it was _Queesly_, but he couldn't move his head from the ground so the only thing he could see were calves clad in a dark standard wizard robe.

He had to give the Gryffindor credit for not coming dressed with his school robe so as not to be immediately recognized.

The snow had numbed his left cheek and he felt the end of a wand poking at his right one. He would get him for this, he would, no matter the dirty tricks he had to use. The moment he was attacked from behind, everything was game.

But first he needed to be able to _move_. And the pair of shoes surprisingly continued to remain still.

Was Weasley testing him? He dared to test him? The spells he had shown to Weasley in the men's loo last time had not been enough? Oh, he'd show him alright.

His outraged thoughts stopped when he saw a wand – _his_ wand – falling to the ground next to his head.

Yes, this was a test. Maybe the Gryffindor was having some sort of sick amusement out of this? He shuddered internally at the thought of Weasley enjoying seeing him bound.

He needed his wand to undo the spell, what was it, _petrificus totalus?_ How unoriginal.

He tried to voice _accio wand_ but his lips did not part, his tongue did not move. He closed his eyes for a second, imagining the wand that was lying on the snow near his nose would float into his right hand and he concentrated on the word _accio_.

A fragment of a second later he felt something poking between his petrified fingers and he would have smirked if his mouth would have obeyed his mood.

His heart skipped a beat when he saw Weasley's shoes moving out of view and then he felt a pull at his right hand and he was wandless yet again.

He growled in frustration and indignation. How was he supposed to unbind himself from the charm without his wand?

Unless... he was supposed to freeze here until morning? No, a Gryffindor wouldn't do that, maybe a Slytherin, but never a Gryffindor. They were courageous and_ kind_, they did not enjoy sick games.

If he had not been so focused on his outrage he would have heard the quiet deep chuckle above his head.

He was in a very dangerous mood, he did not like feeling helpless as if his life danced on someone's palm.

He was starting to feel light headed, either from the cold of having been laying in the snow for Merlin knew how long or from the anger that boiled inside of him.

He couldn't do anything, he was paralyzed. He felt as if he were a six year old, helpless and facing the whole world all by himself.

His magic seemed to rise with him, he felt it warm his insides as it swirled around him; _it _was angry.

His magic was _angry_ like he was.

It was the first time he identified an emotion in his own magic.

He nurtured the negative emotion and he was satisfied when the magic responded fiercely to his probing. His eyes were closed but he heard retreating steps, _two steps_ away from him. Precaution? Could Weasley feel his magic? But only powerful wizards could feel the magic of others and he very much doubted the Gryffindor fit in the category of wizards like Dumbledore and Voldemort.

The skin on his legs started tingling slightly and then it spread onto his upper thighs and to his back and to his arms and the tingling became more intense as if millions of ants were walking on his body.

He bit his lip at the uncomfortable sensation.

His eyes snapped open.

He could move his lips. Then... He tried moving his hands and feet and it was a very stiff and awkward movement of limbs until he was able to rise and stand.

There was no sign of Weasley's presence when he looked around. No footsteps on the snow either.

* * *

"Bloody hell, I think this is the first time I'm so excited about going home!"

Sometimes he just wanted to slap Goyle on the head so he wouldn't have to listen to his poor attempts at small talk.

The train moved steadily on the rails. The cabin had been silent for most of the ride his housemates had been playing wizard's chess.

"Tell me about it, I was thinking of casting an _Unforgivable_ to the next teacher that used O. in a sentence."

He couldn't help but agree with Blaise who was sitting on his right with Parkinson latched onto his arm.

_Keep your enemies close_, his father used to say to him. Potter was a failed attempt but he had been eleven years old only. Four years were enough to hone his social skills.

"This year Draco's mother's hosting the infamous New Year ball with a masquerade theme, from what I heard. Is that right, Draco?" Parkinson turned to him, enthusiasm shining in her eyes. Crabbe, Goyle and Blaise groaned at the words 'ball' and 'masquerade'. Their families were on the guests' list.

He turned his head to the window before he answered.

"You'll just have to see it for yourself, Parkinson."

The girl huffed and he smirked at how easily she could be affected.

"We should match our masks, Blaise!"

All males but Blaise Zabini snickered at the picture. He caught his housemate frowning from the corner of his eye.

"I think that's a splendid idea." Draco smirked toward Blaise who was glaring at him in return and Parkinson smiled at his _approval_.

"Maybe we should all dress like Death Eaters..." He murmured under his breath to the scenery outside. They were getting closer to their destination.

An ominous silence fell between all four Slytherins at his words. He heard Crabbe's nervous gulp.

And there were moments Goyle surprised him with some intelligent comments which sometimes made him wonder if the flabby Slytherin was more than what he appeared to be.

"...Wouldn't quite be a masquerade then, would it?"

Pansy laughed awkwardly which had the intended opposite effect; the tension was now palpable in the air.

He continued to stare at the moving scenery, a blur of white snow covering the once green grounds which were now empty. Abandoned. Alone.

Like his _destiny_ would be. Serving the Dark Lord merely as a number between the absurd amount of followers he had; the Light had no idea just how many of them actually existed.

He turned his head to survey each one of the Slytherins inside the train compartment.

They all shared the same future. No more than flies that Vold- _the Dark Lord_ would have no hesitation to swat away in case they became too bothersome or incompetent.

They were mere bones to be tossed at the _white dogs_ in the upcoming war.

Crabbe's clumsy foot slammed into the small conjured table that was holding the chess board and every single Slytherin watched as the remaining five black pawns were disturbed.

Three fell onto the ground; Crabbe, Goyle and Parkinson followed each piece as it rolled away from the table and to their feet.

The other two remained on the board. Blaise stared as the fourth pawn that was lying on its back on the white square of the board, unmoving. _Dead_.

Draco fixed the only one that remained standing on a dark square.

Behind the black king.

No one dared to move.

* * *

"Father. Mother." He nodded to each after the exited the train with his baggage behind him.

"Draco." His father's reply was cold to an outsider but Draco knew to search for the warm glint in the otherwise cold grey eyes.

"You have grown over the last months, Draco." He turned to his mother who tenderly squeezed his left shoulder. He had grown indeed. He was taller than her now.

"Quite so." His father added and patted him on his right arm. "I expect your growth has extended to your grades also...?"

He didn't miss the stern implication in his father's tone. "Yes, father."

He had truly grown mentally and physically in the first term of his fifth year, he didn't know the reason, hormones perhaps?

Draco watched as Lucius shrunk his luggage and fit it into his robe pocket.

He caught his father's eyes blankly staring at him. No matter how hard he tried, reading his father was sometimes like reading a blank page. "Yes, father?"

Lucius seemed uncomfortable after the politely voiced question which made him more suspicious of what was coming next. He had a good guess it was probably about the Dark Lord.

"I expect nothing but the best behaviour from you, Draco."

His father averted his gaze from him as he almost whispered the words. He sounded _burdened_, almost guilty...

"Yes, father." He repeated.

He took his father's arm as he was side apparated to the Malfoy Manor.


	6. The sixth memory

A/N: I find it absurd that Voldemort who has the ability to create seven horcruxes is not depicted as being able to restore a superficial appearance. Thus, the Voldemort in this story is Tom Riddle like we know him, except older. Appearances are important for manipulation, after all. Reviews always motivate me; any mistakes, let me know.

* * *

_**There is no such thing as liberty. You can only change one sort of domination for another. All we can do is to choose our Master.**_

_- David Herbert Lawrence_

* * *

**Chapter 6**

**_T_**He Manor was spotless as he had expected; everything was in place from the precious vases on the mahogany stands to the identical candles placed in the chandelier above his head – a small antique touch from his mother.

He could see his reflection in the white marble floor.

"Libby" the house elf appeared at Lucius' snap of fingers "take the trunk upstairs to Draco's room."

Draco glanced between his mother and father. Narcissa was tight lipped and Lucius was gripping his cane with more strength than usual.

"Anything wrong, father, mother?" He let Libby take his trunk and his coat. "Is the Dark Lor-"

"Drake, my dearest nephew!"

He was forcibly pulled into an embrace by his aunt Bellatrix.

"Nice to see you too, aunt." He mumbled in her hair.

"My, how you've grown!" Bellatrix turned to his mother "He's looking more like Lucius each and every day, isn't he?" She crooned.

"As much as I hate interrupting this _joyous_ family reunion, we have matters to attend, Bellatrix."

Bellatrix's smile vanished. "I doubt you do."

He watched silently as his father and his aunt walked away from him without another word. He turned to his mother with a frown.

"Mother, what is aunt Bellatrix doing here?"

Narcissa seemed to have snapped back to reality at the sound of his voice.

"She is one of our guests, Draco. Along with other followers of the Dark Lord."

His eyes landed on her pale trembling hands. "So he's here?"

"Yes, Draco. He is. But not at the moment. Let's go greet our _guests_ now."

He smirked at the biting sarcasm. "Yes, mother."

He opened the door to the drawing room and allowed his mother to enter first who graciously accepted his chivalry with a nod of her head.

The murmuring ceased when he entered the room and he was overwhelmed by the number of Death Eaters present. They were everywhere; on the couches, on the chairs, on the recliners, standing and chattering.

Every eye was fixed on him and he refrained from scratching himself from the attention.

"Why, if it ain't the Malfoy lad."

He turned his cold glare to Mulciber, not before catching his father's warning glance. _Mannerisms, Draco, mannerisms. _

He was damned if he was going to force a smile to the intruder or the rest of them. "I see you're doing well, Mulciber."

Said man whistled. "Haven't you grown a bit too much over the past, what, months? You'll be standing near to Lucius over there in no time."

Lucius gave the man a tight smile. "Yes, I'm afraid he might surpass me even." His eyes were pulled by his father's stare, underlying a message.

The Death Eaters lost interest in him and resumed their conversations. He was still standing in the doorway, not wanting to mingle with the lot and hoping he could retire to his bedroom.

Every time the Dark Lord had come by to the Malfoy Manor he had been ordered to stay in his room and he didn't see how this time would be an exception.

He felt two hands gripping him lightly on the arms and recognized his aunt's voice.

"Haven't you heard, Mull? Draco here had top marks in his house. I told you the boy was precious."

"Precious, indeed." He turned a blank stare to Avery who had been sitting on one of the leather couches. He was holding a glass of champagne. "As the sole heir to the Malfoy fortune and estates I wouldn't have expected any less of you, Draco." He raised his glass to him.

"I try to uphold the family name... but you wouldn't know much about that, now would you?"

He smirked when Avery stopped dead in his tracks and almost broke the crystal glass from gripping it too tightly. Everyone knew how Avery had claimed to be under the _Imperius_ curse and denied his loyalty to the Dark Lord in order to avoid Azkaban when he had been caught by Aurors.

It was the man's weak spot. Some Death Eaters who were in range of the conversation snickered.

"Now, now, Drake, some truths are not to be told." Bellatrix laughed manically at her own joke and he couldn't help but widen his smirk when he saw Avery turning his back on them while mumbling curses under his breath.

"Draco, upstairs."

His father's stern voice ceased Bellatrix's laugh abruptly.

"Ah, come on Lucius don't spoil the lad's return. He barely got home and you're already sending him to his bedroom. Let him have some fun and drink a glass of this delicious wine yo-"

"Draco is _underage_, Mulciber. And he is my son thus I will decide what is best for him."

He glared coldly at his father. He was underage to drink but not to become a Death Eater? His father had been hammering him with private tutors since he was eight who taught him Dark magic and rules and what was expected of him as Voldemort's servant and yet he was _underage_ for a glass of _wine_?

As if Lucius read his thoughts, the older man broke eye contact with him and he turned his back to Draco with a last repeat that he was to go to his bedroom before he engaged into a conversation with Nott about the upcoming raids.

He swivelled on the heel of his shoe and ignored Bellatrix's pout as he walked through the grand doors, closing them silently before he climbed the stairs to the first floor of the mansion where his bedroom was.

* * *

"_The __**boy**__, Lucius..."_

He blinked the sleep out of his eyes a few times as his hazy mind woke up to the image of his ceiling.

He picked the book he had been previously reading _Magical artefacts and longevity_ and placed it on his desk to be later returned to the Manor's library.

He didn't remember falling asleep and he didn't remember what woke him up.

Two knocks resounded on his door.

"Draco, I'm coming in."

It was his father who opened the door and stood tall and proud like he always did, no matter the occasion. But Draco noticed a shift in his disposure.

"The... Dark Lord would like your presence. Make yourself acceptable."

Draco's heart skipped a beat.

"He... He's here? Now?"

"Yes boy, now quick!" Lucius snapped and closed the door abruptly.

He stared at the spot his father had been previously on. His father never sounded nervous and that was making him worry.

_Voldemort_ was here, in his house, at this moment and he requested his presence for the first time ever. It would be the first time he would ever make direct contact with the Dark Lord.

He looked himself in the mirror and decided to change his wrinkled shirt to a new one of the same kind and quickly brushed his hair to erase evidence of him having slept.

He was looking paler than usual when he walked out of his bedroom and climbed down the grand stairs to the entrance hall and his heart stopped when he saw the doors to the drawing room were open already.

He felt like he would have needed the doors to be closed so he could hesitate before taking a deep breath and opening them. It was an exercise to mentalize himself against the unknown.

And now he felt completely unprepared.

"What are you doing here, Draco?"

He jumped at Lucius' voice and exhaled before turning toward his father.

"Father... I thought I was supposed to come here..."

"No, silly boy, I told-" Lucius stopped and brought a hand to his forehead. "Never mind, follow me."

"I apologize, father." He knew Lucius well enough to understand that his father would always be stressed and uncomfortable whenever the Dark Lord was involved no matter how composed he appeared in front of others.

He was led to the door connected to the living room which was opposite to the drawing room.

Lucius opened the door and allowed him to enter first and as he did it, his mind was completely blank and he felt as if he were someone else watching a blond young male Slytherin entering the vast room as the unmasked Death Eaters strolled around, making minor and polite conversations.

He saw his aunt taunt Pettigrew who was trying to keep some sort of dignity while he was being ridiculized and failing miserably.

Nott was being engaged into a conversation by two unnamed Death Eaters.

His mother, looking glorious as always, was planted firmly to the ground when she caught a glimpse of him and unconsciously ignored Rabastan Lestrange.

His father was behind him and he could _feel_ his tense aura as he went past him straight ahead to where a man around his 40's was royally sitting on a black divan, his elbow resting on one of the armrests and the back of his hand supporting his chin, his legs elegantly crossed while no one seemed to be near him but everyone appeared to be positioned in a way that they were circling the man in a respectable distance.

When Draco's eyes locked with dark red he didn't need to see his father kneeling before the man and voicing 'my Lord' to **know** that he was being analyzed by the Dark Lord himself.

He didn't know when or why but the room had fallen eerily silent and every single Death Eater turned their backs on him to face Voldemort as Lucius retreated to the front row with his head bowed.

And in the middle of the semi circle was him standing by himself.

Draco's ears were pounding with his heartbeat and his hands started sweating when he couldn't tear his improper gaze from the Dark Lord's eyes.

He should have bowed his head by now, he should have walked to the man and kneeled and yet he was standing like a fool in the middle of a group of Death Eaters who had started whispering on his odd behaviour.

He could notice his father's warning gaze from the left corner of his eyes.

He had spent numerous summer vacations with a tutor who had taught him the etiquette and the customs when introducing oneself to the Dark Lord and now it felt as if all those teachings had fled his mind as he continuously stared at said man.

He wanted to tear his gaze away but he couldn't and he didn't know why, he shouldn't be acting like this, he was sure he was irritating his father by now by his poor display of mannerism.

The dark red eyes did not appear bothered in the slightest by his bold staring but their indifference was disconcerting him in a different level.

He felt a wave of nausea hit him and he had to close his eyes in order not to stagger.

"Draco! Don't stand there-"

"Leave the boy, Lucius."

His eyes snapped open at His voice.

It was dark and smooth, too smooth to be calming; it underlined danger and Draco noticed he wasn't the only one who thought the same for Bellatrix shuddered and the group of Death Eaters shifted uncomfortably.

He saw his father immediately kneeling again before Voldemort and the next words his father professed made him feel ashamed.

"I apologize, my Lord, my son forgot his place-"

"Tell me, Lucius"

Draco noticed how his father's jaw clenched at being interrupted twice and he instantly bowed his head to stare at his feet after he noticed the too indifferent gaze the Dark Lord regarded his father with.

"Since when have I told you to teach the boy _Oclummency_?"

Draco's eyes widened.

Voldemort had tried to invade his mind earlier. This man had used _Legillimency _the first time he had made eye contact with him and he hadn't even felt anyone probing on the walls of his mind.

He was definitely someone he didn't want to associate, and most definitely, not mess with.

"I..." Lucius' gulp was audible to his ears "I thought strengthening his mind from the Order would be of benefit to you, my Lord."

Draco saw Voldemort's tall figure rising and Lucius remained kneeling toward the divan as the Dark Lord took slow deliberate steps toward him.

His heart was beating harder each time Voldemort took a step closer to him and he continued to stare at the ground hoping that the proximity wouldn't allow for his heartbeat to be heard.

When a second pair of immaculate black shoes appeared in his field of vision, he was about to kneel but a hand under his chin stopped him from doing so.

"Look at me, child."

The tone was cold and rigid and up close it made him want to turn his back and leave the room. His muscles were stiff in preparation to flee but his mind kept him rooted to the spot.

He started feeling dizzy the moment Voldemort had been five steps away from him and now that he was _touching_ him he felt as if someone was continuously stepping on the top of his head.

Draco had been so concentrated on his thoughts he forgot to _obey_ the direct order.

His chin was forced up surprisingly gently and he looked directly into the red intense eyes.

All of a sudden a knife sliced his brain in half and nails were being hammered into his skull and the pressure and the pain were excruciating and everything just swirled around and around and around and up and down and he didn't know who he was, where he was and what he was doing, just the massive amount of pain, and images of his younger self were flashing behind his eyes and it burned, it **burned **and he wanted it to stop.

He saw himself crying alone in his bed when he was nine and he somehow remembered past the pain that it had been the day when his father had yelled at him because he had attempted to make friends with a muggle girl when they had gone to London.

And the more he remembered the more it **hurt**, the nails were digging deeper into his skull and someone was pounding on them with renewed vigour and he wanted them to stop, stop, _stop_, it hurt, it HURT, it **HURT**.

He remembered his first broom, his first wand in Olivander's shop, the first time he saw the infamous Harry Potter inside _Madam Malkin's_, the first time he approached Potter with the promise of friendship and had been rejected, and many more flashed until time stilled to the memory of him using _cruccio_ on Crabbe and he felt sick as he watched the fellow Slytherin contorting into positions which a normal human shouldn't be able to and he watched himself inhaling, intoxicated by the power, _excited_ by the _Unforgivable_, but it **HURT, burned**, scorching water was being poured onto his eyes and they melted into the sockets and he couldn't see, he was blind, he couldn't see, make it stop, _make it stop_, he screamed into his head and then there was nothing.

He staggered a bit before he collapsed onto the ground on his hands and knees and he dry heaved once near Voldemort's feet.

He breathed heavily and noticed a dark red spot on the white marble floor and confusedly inspected it before he brought his trembling right hand to his face and felt blood dripping from his nose.

The shoes walked away from him and everyone was silent and he turned to where he knew his mother would come rushing to him to shake his head at her before she reached him.

Narcissa reluctantly stopped in her tracks and when he saw her hesitation he glared at her intensely to get his message across.

"You may have underestimated your son, Lucius..."

His head snapped upwards at the private implication in the disturbingly amused voice and he regretted his action when his brain pounded against his skull.

He winced but he didn't rise, knowing only to stand when the Dark Lord wished so.

His father was standing with both his fists clenched so tightly they were shaking. Had he screamed as Voldemort had torn his mind apart?

"I'm very disappointed in you, Lucius, you have taught the child ways to barricade his mind from me. Now you have witnessed the consequences of such actions."

Voldemort sounded as if he were scolding a six year old who had been caught drawing on the walls.

He had to serve this _man_ for the rest of his life? He would have to battle for him, he would have to sacrifice himself for his name, all at the prize of what?

Nothing.

He glared at the red blotch on the floor and balled his fists hoping he would not voice his outrage at such absurdity. What the_ fuck_ had his father gotten himself into?

When Voldemort calmly resumed his earlier posture on the divan his father stiffly backed away into the first row of Death Eaters.

"Rise, child. You're making a mess on the floor."

Avery snorted amusedly and at that moment something snapped in him for the next thing he knew he had his wand digging into the Death Eater's throat who had been backed up to a wall and he then noticed a wand jabbing warningly at his left side.

"Draco! Lower you wand!"

The firmness in his father's voice made him obey and he ignored Avery's threats on how he would not tolerate him next time as he slowly turned incredulous eyes to his father. His own father who did not show any kind of remorse for what his _Lord_ had done to his own son.

Lucius raised his head higher authoritatively.

His father was mad, they were all insane. They treated what had happened to him as nothing; they had brushed it easily for every Death Eater didn't even glance at him to acknowledge the blood under his nose.

He was overreacting, he knew that. He had heard from Pansy, Goyle and Crabbe what his parents told them what happened in some meetings. Torture, pain, murder. But feeling it was a different matter on a whole new scale.

And now Voldemort knew that he had used the _cruciatus_ curse on Crabbe on Hogwarts' grounds.

Merlin!

He felt a prickle at the back of his neck and he locked eyes with Voldemort's. The man seemed constantly amused by something.

"Narcissa" the eye contact was broken and he noticed how quick the light in Voldemort's gaze changed from amused to disturbingly impassive.

It was only when his mother's name was mentioned that he was aware of her standing next to him and he was being lightly dragged by her hands toward the door outside.

"Leave the boy in."

His mother instantly stopped in her tracks and he felt her hands tightening around his right arm but he didn't mention it to her for when he looked at her, he saw how her lips almost imperceptibly quivered.

"Yes, my Lord." She lowered her head.

He felt exhausted so he took his place on a couch in a far corner from Voldemort which was thankfully near the hearth where a small fire warmed him slightly.

He looked at his mother who was hesitant as to what to do with him so he asked her for a cleansing charm to erase the blood from his nose and from his robes and his heart almost broke when he saw her eyes discretely water.

"Proceed" and with an elegant wave of his hand, the Death Eaters scattered and resumed their previous conversations.

"I'm so proud of you, Draco."

He turned his head away from Voldemort back to his mother.

"What is there to be proud of, mother?"

She fidgeted with the fabric of her grey dress.

"You have upheld the family name" at his confused expression she added "you didn't faint or cry when the Lord used Legillimency."

His lips parted in dumbfound at her ridiculous wording. _Their_ Lord? She was proud he had _upheld the family name_?

"Leave me, _mother_, I am tired." _Of dealing with bullshit_.

He looked disbelievingly at her retreating back and his eyes followed her form until she engaged Bellatrix into a conversation, both women glancing at him from time to time.

Draco felt as if every single person inside the room was mental and he was the only sane one for finding this situation completely impossible.

They were all following a mad man and he was supposed to do so too.

The fumes from the fireplace were making his head heavy and he couldn't stop his eyelids from closing for the last time.


	7. The seventh Gate

A/N: **Warning: **torture and gore ahead on a minor. You've been warned.

To those who have read it, I'd like if you'd review about it, tell me if you think it wasn't strong or emotional enough. I feel like it wasn't as shocking as I wanted it to be.

* * *

**_Pain is the breaking of the shell that encloses understanding._**

* * *

**Chapter 7**

_**D**_raco stirred and opened his eyes. How long had it been since he had lost consciousness of his surroundings? 5 minutes? Less?

"N-no, please! We did nothing wrong, _please_!"

"_Silence_, muggle scum!"

He had awakened to the frantic pleas and cries of a muggle family being dragged by Death Eaters into the room. The muggles were being shoved and pushed forward and a 9 year old girl toppled over her feet and fell down. Her mother rushed over to her, distressed and whimpering.

Seeing their astonished expressions and questioning tears marring their faces, Draco figured they had no notion as to why they had been dragged over to a strange mansion by strangely clad people.

"Stop crying_, muggle_." Nott separated the mother from the little girl and pushed her harshly to where her husband was kneeling. She fell on all fours and he noticed her thin arms were trembling and her brown chestnut hair was covering her reddened face. She cried harder.

The Death Eaters who had been present in the room before their arrival formed a circle around the family of muggles and the new arrived comrades. Draco glanced where Voldemort sat.

He looked serene with his right hand under his chin and his legs crossed, but as he inspected closer he could see the fraction of a frown on the left corner of his mouth and the red in his eyes was dull as he stared condescendingly at the muggle family. The father had his dark head lowered and his tied arms were shivering; if it was of rage or fear or both, Draco couldn't pinpoint from his location.

The grand room was quiet and the whimpering and sobbing of the female muggles was amplified by the high ceiling.

Avery gave a step ahead and he deformed the circle; Draco noticed the hungry glint in his eyes as he glanced twice to his Lord.

He coughed once and broke the silence.

" '_Goddammit_, you tell them something and they do the opposite." Avery grinned and looked down upon the woman and Draco feared when he saw the mirth disappear in a flash from the Death Eater's eyes and his mouth set in a hard frown.

Avery sneered at the woman and lifted his boot to the level of her head and kicked her powerfully.

A gasp of pain was heard as her neck snapped to the side with sickening speed and she fell to her left side, nearing her body to her unresponsive husband.

He clenched the arm of the chair he had been sitting on.

He scanned the room for his father but he was standing near the Dark Lord impassive to it all. He was looking at the woman as if uninterestedly waiting for her next reaction.

His eyebrows furrowed in anger.

He left the chair and walked quietly toward the circle to look for his mother, hoping she could put a stop to the gruesome show. Surely she wouldn't allow muggle blood to flood the precious marble floor of her house.

He saw the white of her dress and was about to tap her gently on the arm but his hand stopped in middle air.

Her lips were slightly parted and her eyes were glazed, staring at nothing and no one.

He stood there for a few seconds and yet his mother didn't acknowledge his presence beside her.

He retreated his arm slowly and clenched his fist by his side.

He scanned the circle of Death Eaters around him. His aunt Bella was sipping a glass of wine while watching with mild interest Avery's next actions. Others were portraying her while some were silently exchanging remarks about some subjects his ears couldn't capture.

The atmosphere seemed looser than it had been 3 minutes ago.

He felt terrifyingly out of place as the only underage wizard and most likely the only one who found this _wrong_.

His face was ghost pale and his expression unreadable when he saw Avery pulling out his wand and aiming it at the little girl who was sitting with her legs spread on the ground while she hiccupped.

Avery glanced behind him where his Lord stood impassive and he must have got the silent approval he wanted for he turned his lustful eyes to the child.

When Draco understood what was about to happen, his body screamed at him to move and prevent ungodly act.

Something hammered against his head.

He stilled.

He slowly turned his head to Voldemort and his eyes locked with the Dark Lord's. He couldn't read the expression on the horrific features but he felt a muted promise of unimaginable pain if Draco dared to act on his instincts.

Voldemort could read him.

He gulped and clenched his fists tightly.

He bowed his head and bit his lips painfully when he heard Avery throwing a strong stinging hex to the girl.

The crying grew louder and father and mother dashed to their child. Mulciber stepped out of the circle to magically throw the muggle parents back and conjured chains from the ground that encircled them and rendered them spectators.

The Death Eaters laughed at the futile attempts of the _vermin_.

"_Diffindo_"

Draco watched in horror as the spell shredded the girl's dress and underwear and bared her to everyone's eyes. He averted his eyes from her hairless undefiled flesh.

_That sick fuck-_

Draco slowly and unsuspected reached into his robe's right pocket to encircle his wand.

He glanced over at this father who had been watching him quietly for the last seconds and read the strong aversion to what he wanted to do.

He glared back at Lucius and in return he got a frown of disapproval from his father. How could he stand and watch this? It was a whole new type of _wrong_ that went past the murder of random muggles.

Mulciber cast a _Silencio_ over the protesting parents and Avery drew near the little girl who was sitting and wailing in her own puddle of urine.

The circle of spectators grew louder and more interested.

Draco grew angrier.

He saw Avery kneeling and grabbing the child roughly by her brown hair and forcefully pushing her head back and the repulsive Death Eater licked the innocent soft flesh on the thin neck.

The muggle child screamed, alarmed at the foreign feeling and kicked and threw her arms around in a futile attempt to break from the old man's grip.

He heard Avery groan in pain when the girl kicked him in his crotch. The Death Eater circle sniggered and chuckled.

Draco saw the fury flash in the older man's eyes.

He back handed the girl harshly and the small body slid over the marble floor almost a meter.

Avery followed and kicked the girl in the stomach and the small high pitched scream tore through Draco's chest.

"Why you little _filthy_ girl! You dare raise your hand against _me_?"

"Barely her fault, Avery. The parents didn't teach her manners when in the presence of her superiors." Draco snapped his head to his aunt's comment.

"It's always the parents' fault." The brown eyes which had been warm when they had landed on him when he had arrived at the Manor were full of disgust and scorn when she looked at the muggle couple.

"This is what we have to teach _them_, Avery. Every single one of them." Bellatrix sipped her wine pleasantly.

A chorus of agreement from the rest of the Death Eaters.

Draco risked a glance at Voldemort. He seemed pleased by Bellatrix's words.

Voldemort didn't move an inch from his previous position. He observed his followers quietly and still.

A shattering scream tore through his head and he snapped his eyes to see the girl's knees bent backwards, her knee caps facing the _wrong_ direction and the skin had been extended as if someone had rotated her calves like one would do to a cap on a bottle.

She continued to scream at the unimaginable excruciating pain and Avery laughed over her hysterical pleas for it to stop.

"_Erecto_." The Death Eater forced the girl to stand up on her reversed knees and Draco thought he would be sick at the image.

The muggle child cried harder at the pain of her legs supporting her weight and her bones perforated her skin and were sticking out. Her calves slid onto the bent bones and the girl screams rose tenfold.

"Mommy! Mommy it hurts, please make it sto-!

"Shut up for a bit you _fucking cunt_. My ears are bleeding from your screeching!" Draco heard the _excitement_ in Avery's voice and noticed the swell at the front of his robes.

The girl stopped screaming and crying abruptly. Her eyes bulged abnormally and her mouth filled with something she wanted to hold back.

Draco watched in repulsed horror as he witnessed for the first time a human's insides being expelled from the body through the mouth.

She gagged her stomach, the sack of flesh chocking her halfway through and it fell onto the floor, attached to her oesophagus which was dangling out past her lips.

A second later she regurgitated something dark brown and meaty that stained her lips with blood and Draco gagged at the sound her liver made when it landed on the white marble.

The Death Eaters were shifting uncomfortably from the restrained excitement to participate in the torture and the muggle couple was yelling silently and struggling against the chains that kept them in place.

"Do not worry, your turn will soon come." He heard Mulciber whisper loud enough for others to hear and Bellatrix cackled maniacally.

Draco unwillingly turned his eyes to the girl vomiting her organs and he saw her pulling in panic at the meaty cord coming from her mouth that was binding her stomach.

She tugged desperately at it and with each pull she screamed from the pain of tearing her own oesophagus from the back of her throat.

Draco gagged once more and he felt bile rising up his throat, burning the back of his mouth. The Death Eaters were laughing at the girl's self mutilation.

His knees felt weak at the horrendous display.

He grabbed his wand and was about to step forward and _crucio_ Avery after he would have thrown an _avada_ to end the girl's suffering.

An arm encircled his own and stopped him in mid action. He snapped his furious eyes to his mother and was about to shake her off but her next words froze him to the spot.

"_Do not defy the Dark Lord_. They're just muggles."

He wanted to tell her to fuck herself and her Dark Lord and the fucking sick ideals they used as an _excuse_ to get a hard on from torture.

Her eyes glazed over and stared into space, escaping the reality from the room.

He wanted to slap her and hex her, to make her come to her senses. Was his mother this type of person? The one who would refuse to meddle into situations if they proved not to bring her any benefit? So inhumane, so sick... Were his parents always like this?

"Lucius..." The Death Eaters and Avery stilled immediately in their excited buzzing and all turned their eyes, including his mother, to the Dark Lord.

"I believe your son is not enjoying the show." Every single pair of eyes turned to him and stared him down as if he had personally insulted Voldemort.

He stiffened under the scrutiny. Voldemort was inspecting his wand as if what Avery was doing was boring him.

_Of course it would be boring for him, the sick fuck probably does this and much worse everyday-_

"I think he must rather participate than to watch, don't you think so, Lucius?"

Draco's stomach dropped to the floor. He looked at his father nervously, hoping he would... hoping he would say '_no_'... but he didn't say anything for the 5 longest seconds in his life. He was his father, he wouldn't... he couldn't make his own son take part in this.

He felt a hand clench around his heart when he saw his father bow wordlessly to Voldemort.

The red eyes stared stoically into his own.

Draco held in his breath. How could someone hold the level of indifference like Voldemort was before a child vomiting her blood and organs?

Worse than sick, there were no words to describe _him_.

"What an honour, Draco! To be given permission by our Lord himself!" Bellatrix's chirping tone reminded him of the times she complimented his looks or his academic performance.

Draco's stomach churned. He didn't even glance at the delusional mad Death Eater.

"..."

His cheek burned for a fraction and he felt the spot warm. A slashing curse. His eyes snapped to Voldemort's displeased face.

"When someone speak to you, Draco, it's necessary as good manners to maintain eye contact."

His glare darkened at Voldemort.

He winced in pain and clutched at his right thigh when the slashing curse hit his muscle in a long line, the blood soaking through his pants.

He looked back in surprise at the Dark Lord who was now frowning.

"When someone addresses you, if you don't reply it is taken as bad manners. Have you taught him nothing, Lucius?" The flat tone made the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

Voldemort's wand wordlessly emitted a red jet toward Lucius and his father was thrown on his back as dozens of painful cuts appeared on his body but his father remained silent if not for an occasional silent groan.

Draco watched his father rise up with some difficulty, but none the less with grace, and bow his head low. "I apologise, my Lord. I will remedy this deficiency."

The red penetrating gaze never left Draco's.

"Avery, step aside."

He watched the Death Eater from his peripheral vision frown discontentedly at being ordered to fall back from his enjoyment.

"Yes, my Lord." Avery bowed in the same manner his father had and retreated into the circle.

Draco didn't want to turn around to watch the girl expelling her intestines through her mouth; the sounds were sufficient to make his stomach feel as if it was being tied by a thread that was slowly constricting its middle. The girl had stopped crying and she had resumed to gagging and gurgling. Draco hoped death would embrace her quickly.

"I'm going to give you the _privilege_ of ending her distasteful suffering, Draco."

He stiffened at the order.

"But in return, the parents will be tortured in the same fashion by your own hands."

Avery sputtered an indignant '_but my Lord! You gave me permission to conduct tonight's torture!' _and the Death Eaters around him seemed to shift and mumble protests against having a novice put before themselves.

Draco had never seen anything more distressing. _Like starved dogs after a slab of meat._

_"**Silence**_."

The room stilled at the chilling voice. Draco lowered his head when Voldemort rose from the chair and walked to the middle of the circle, nearing step by step the child who was still excruciatingly suffering.

He would refuse. He wouldn't be able to torture. He wouldn't be able to muster any power to cast the killing curse on the child. His hands were shaking and he felt like vomiting his own stomach.

He would refuse...

He saw Voldemort raise his wand to the girl and pronounce _cruccio_ in a painfully bored voice.

Draco dry heaved when the girl bit on the large intestine that was still coming out past her lips, her teeth sinking in the elastic flesh and drawing blood and rests of faeces spurt out of the gap in the wall.

Her eyes rolled back into their sockets as she gurgled and chocked on faecal matter, blood and her own intestines. She couldn't scream out of pain.

Draco watched horrified and repulsed as she once again cut the intestine wall with her teeth as the seconds of the curse dragged by.

He removed his gaze from the contorting child as she flapped her attached organs over the floor and bent over and dry heaved on the floor.

"Keep watching, boy. Each second you don't watch will be added and doubled to the time she will be under the curse."

Draco's stomach clenched so tightly he thought it might come out of him. _How could... How could this exist. How could this..._

He forced himself to look at the twitching child. Tears slipped from his face and he noticed the Death Eaters around him sneer at him in disgust. **_He_**_ was disgusting? _He would have laughed at the fucking irony.

Out of the corner of his eyes his father frowned, disappointed.

Were these his parents? Was he watching this out of someone else's eyes? Was this a nightmare he was having? Was he now sleeping in the chair near the fireplace?

More tears slipped past his grey eyes and his breath shuddered in relief when the child's twitching and gurgling form had stopped moving. She was still.

Finally, finally she was dead. Finally she had escaped. Finally she couldn't feel anymore.

"I'm more and more disappointed in you Lucius... I've chosen you to be my right hand for a reason. And it seems I might have been wrong." He watched through his wet eyes as Voldemort turned his back to the dead muggle girl and fixed his father with a mock disappointed stare.

Draco couldn't help but see that Avery, who was in the spectrum of his vision, had an indiscreet erection bulging from the front of his robes as he kept staring at the child's cadaver.

"... You know how much I hate being wrong, don't you, Lucius?" Voldemort was caressing his wand as if distracted from the world.

His father clenched his fists, an unusual open display of emotion. "Yes, my Lord."

In a matter of seconds, Draco watched detached as his father removed his wand swiftly from his robes and for a fraction he thought that Lucius had finally come to sense and would cast the killing curse on his Lord and end the madness for all, but Draco frowned as his father advanced at him in slow motion, swift strides billowing his wizard's cloak around him and the wand was pointed at the _wrong_ person.

Why was his father pointing his wand at him? He looked confusedly into his father's eyes and he was shocked to see anger in them. Anger directed at him. As if _he_ had been the one to do something wrong.

His father's lips moved slowly to his perception and as he read _cruccio_ from them his eyes widened in disbelief.

The curse hit him for the first time in his life and as the indescribable pain took hold of him, he fell to the ground and something inside him shattered. He heard himself scream from the pain and from this chest tearing apart at having his own father casting an _Unforgivable_ on his own son.

He had... Lucius had _never_ physically punished him except for the occasional slap when he had done something he _agreed_ was out of bounds.

But _this_... _this_ was too _painful_.

New tears sprung from his eyes as hundred of sharpened knives dug themselves into his muscles, cutting fibres apart and sawing the bones on his arms, his legs, his whole body was being severed and he screamed raw from the pain.

Molten iron was being poured onto him and his skin was peeled away by it, his head was being torn open with a chainsaw and it penetrated deeper until it cut his skull open and reached his brain and he didn't know if he could stand it anymore, he would **die** from this pain, he wanted to faint, he wanted to black out, he couldn't... he couldn't... any longer...

He gasped loudly when all the knives had removed themselves from his bones and when the chainsaw stopped shredding his brain.

His vision was blurred as he stared at Lucius' polished shoes.

He panted and his body shuddered in short frequent spasms of after pain.

"You have spoiled your son, Lucius. I believed in you when you reported to me that he was growing ready to serve me as you do. I'm... _saddened_."

He saw his father kneeling before the monster and kissing the hem of his robes.

"Forgive me, my Lord. I cannot voice my shame in having dissatisfied you, my Lord."

Some Death Eaters around Lucius, Voldemort and him shifted uncomfortably and threw some snide remarks about disloyalty toward 'the Lord' and Lucius' form stiffened at having his honour of being Voldemort's right hand questioned.

Voldemort placed a hand under Lucius' chin and raised his head.

"You've served me well until now, Lucius. As one time token of gratitude toward your service I will let this slide once."

His father's eyes filled with reverence and gratefulness and he kissed his Lord's robes for a second time. "You are too graceful, my Lord. I will not fail you a second time."

At this, Draco's heart shattered in millions of pieces. His father only sought the approval of Voldemort. _His_ orders were an absolute for him. He would get murdered by his own father if he continued to disobey Voldemort.

He felt his body rise itself. His father had levitated him into a standing position with his wand. The cold gesture underlined that he hadn't wanted to touch his own _son_.

Draco had never felt deader inside.

"To make up for this disappointment... Avery" The Death Eater suddenly perked up at being called by his Lord "you may proceed however you may seem fit with the rest of the trash."

"Narcissa." Draco stiffened at his mother being called.

"Remove your son from the room. You and Lucius may be dismissed."

Some Death Eaters sniggered. It seemed that being dismissed from the Dark Lord's presence was one of the most insulting orders for a loyal follower, especially being dismissed in one's own home.

His father clenched his jaw and went past him without even glancing at him. His mother placed a hand on his back to guide him outside but strangely...

Her hand was cold.

Walking pained him greatly still, but he managed not to drag himself out of the room, yet his posture lacked its usual grace and dignity.

He watched the back of his mother as she closed the grand doors gently, as if not wanting to disturb an important event inside.

A hand clamped down on his shoulder and whirled him around and before he could be surprised, Lucius back handed him harder than he ever had.

His head swayed and he landed on the floor on his side. His eyes were wide open and he silently placed his hand over the side of the cheek he had been slapped. It had hurt more than it should have due to the after effects of the _cruciatus_ curse.

"Today, you were not my son." Lucius' tone was cold, unemotional.

He stared unbelieving at his father retreating back.

When he was out of view, Draco was still laying on the floor in shocked silence. His world had crumbled. He was a Death Eater's son. Until then, it had never sunk into him what that meant.

He risked a glance at his mother and he regretted doing so. She was simply starring at the wall above his head, as usual ignoring what went around her as if it was not of her concern.

Tears welled up in his eyes for the third time and he abruptly jumped to his feet and uncharacteristically ran to his room.

He wanted to bang the door to his bedroom but his hands halted on the knob. He opted to close it quietly so he wouldn't attract attention to his presence. He didn't want to exist in the Malfoy family then.

He didn't want to exist as Draco Lucius Malfoy.

At his father's name, his heart clenched and more tears gathered at the corner of his eyes.

He wiped them away furiously.

He buried his head into the pillow and closed his eyes

He shouldn't be crying.

He wasn't wrong.

They were all wrong.

They were all mad.

He was the only sane human being in this whole universe.

He was...

He...


	8. The Eight deadly sin

A/N: I'll be updating weekly on all Sundays. Your reviews amazed me! Such positive feedback! Thank you. Reading them was a high motivation factor for me.

* * *

_**It is not wise to break rules until you know how to observe them**_

_-Ellie T.S._

* * *

**Chapter 8**

_**O**_pening his eyes, he noticed numbly that no light shone through the window. It was night time. Had had slept half a day.

His nerves buzzed from yesterday's _cruccio_. He stiffened at the memory of his father...

He didn't know how he'd face him from then on.

Glancing at the antique clock integrated into the wall, he read 6 pm. His father wouldn't be at home. He worked at the Ministry until 8. His mother would probably be in the drawing room, entertaining herself with arranging the guest list for the upcoming Masquerade that was going to be hosted in the Manor.

He rose from the bed and his bare feet touched the soft carpet near the bed. When he went to his bathroom, the contact with the cold marble floor made him shudder.

The... marble floor... Filled with intestines and liver and...

He gasped and ran to the toilet and vomited the acid in his stomach.

* * *

He was in the Malfoy library sitting on the individual couches with Crabbe, Goyle, Parkinson and Zabini. They had come by with their parents who were in a meeting with the rest of the Death Eaters and the Dark Lord.

He had managed to avoid Lucius and Voldemort. His mother had given him the silent treatment until she had knocked on the door to his bedroom only to say that he had guests and to take them to the library on the second floor.

Draco sat as if in a trance while he stared at the chess board in front of him.

Voldemort and the rest were on the third floor.

"No, no, if you do that Pansy, Blaise will eat your queen. You can't move the rook and leave her unprotected. She's worthier than any piece of the board." Goyle was surprisingly an acceptable opponent at chess but Crabbe didn't care much for it so Draco wasn't surprised when he noticed the Slytherin actually _reading_ a book.

It was a very small one though, more pictures than words.

"But then Blaise will get my rook. I don't want to sacrifice a piece that can move diagonally."

Draco rolled his eyes at Pansy. "Then simply move your pawn from C3 to D4 and you'll lose neither of them..." He suggested without even looking at the game board.

Pansy tilted her head to the left with a curious frown and then turned to him with a smile "that's it, Draco, thanks! Goyle here isn't much of a help."

"You aren't supposed to be allowed help, Pansy..." Blaise sighed.

"Shouldn't they be done by now? They've been at it for at least 2 hours..." Goyle frowned at the clock on the wall.

He frowned and turned the next page on _Magical artefacts and longevity _but remained silent. He had the urge to speak with them about the horrors that had taken place yesterday beneath the Library they were in but... at the same time he didn't want to.

He was afraid they'd react the same way the Death Eaters had, that they would snigger or frown at him being _weak_ and disgracing the pureblood name with his emotional display.

A pop resounded in the silent library.

Draco looked up to see Libby, the house elf bowing to him before nervously delivering her message.

"Mr. Malfoy, sir, was called by his father, Mr. Malfoy, to join him in the grand room on the third floor, sir." The house elf bowed again.

"The third floor? Isn't that where they're having the meeting...?" Blaise murmured as he stared at Draco with curiosity.

He didn't pay attention to their glances and questioning gazes as he walked away from the group turning his back to them.

* * *

Cold sweat started to gather at the base of his neck.

He stood before the grand white doors.

He...

He didn't want to get in. He was afraid of what he would find inside.

At present, he didn't care that they could _cruccio_ him until he'd grovel and beg for them to stop. Pain inflicted on him wouldn't make him as sick as witnessing what had happened to that small child...

He gulped down the bile that wanted to rise. He hadn't eaten anything during the day. He had been afraid he couldn't keep it down.

"_Loitering behind a door isn't fit for a pureblood, Draco." _

Voldemort's voice.

It made his bile rise up once more. He swallowed the vile acidic substance and he opened the door.

_Close your mind_, _Draco_.

He transfigured his face to a blank sheet and raised his _Oclummency_ shields before stepping into the room.

He kept his head downcast as he walked toward where the imposing presence was sitting.

He stopped mere centimetres from Voldemort.

The word_ propriety_ resounded in his head.

But it didn't feel _proper_ to bow before **him**.

His legs refused to kneel before his Lordship. He clenched his jaw tighter and forced his knees to bend at the Dark Lord's polished shoes.

He doubted he had looked graceful in the process.

He internally grimaced and awaited orders.

He felt the red eyes gazing at his blond head.

His hands by his side clenched.

Could he be quick enough to draw his wand and curse this... _abomination_ to death before he'd get himself killed?

A deep chuckle vibrated through the room and Draco furrowed his eyebrows. He couldn't read his thoughts; he wasn't making eye contact...

"_Draco_, watch your magic, _insolent boy_."

He stiffened at his father's voice and cast a downfall glance around the room and was surprised when he saw a broken vase on the floor near the back of Voldemort's chair.

He hadn't heard anything shatter. Had he just performed subconscious wandless magic?

Before he could understand the meaning of his power, he was waved off by Voldemort to sit at the back of the table with the other lowly ranked Death Eaters.

Draco noticed it had been a very light wave of the hand, almost... graceful.

Lucius was seated on Voldemort's right and Bellatrix on his left while he sat at the end of the grand table.

"Draco."

His head snapped up and he made the mistake of staring straight into Voldemort's eyes. He immediately lowered his gaze to the table but not before catching the small frown on the serpentine face.

"Yes, my Lord?" The words were like sand on his tongue.

"I've decided to humble you with another chance, Draco. Everyone has high expectations of you... Even after yesterday's... disgraceful display."

His hands clenched into fists under the table.

"I apologize, my Lord." His words were untruthful even to his ears.

There was a small sigh as if one had been reprimanding a child that wouldn't understand their mistake.

His muscles tensed automatically, expecting a curse.

There was none.

"You will partake into developing a relationship of trust with Harry Potter. I want his absolute trust toward you until the end of the second term. I have... plans for him that would require someone luring him somewhere he wouldn't otherwise go."

Lucius' burning gaze was on him and he _felt_ the meaning of it.

_Failure was not permitted_.

Some Death Eaters were looking at the Dark Lord with surprise written on their faces for having bequeathed such an important part of their plans to a _child_. The ones near Draco were frowning at him, doubtful that he could succeed.

"It does not matter how you accomplish such a task. But I **demand** results. Failure would be... Unthinkable."

Draco gritted his teeth in frustration.

Why him?

Why did he have to be born under the Malfoy name?

Why did his father bow down to this... _aberration_ every day?

Why were his goals oriented to please Voldemort?

Why did he have to follow in his father's steps?

He felt as if his wrists were tied to a heavy large chain and the end was held by Voldemort who would tug on it whenever he pleased and he'd have to follow the pulls or have his wrists ripped from his arms.

"Yes, my Lord." He answered stoically. He was seething inside.

"You are dismissed." His graceful wave of hand ended the need of him being there.

He rose from his chair, eyes still downcast, and reached the door.

"Oh... and Draco."

His heart stopped.

_Cruccio_.

He awaited the impact of a _cruccio_. If his father's had been that painful, he shuddered when he imagined how **Voldemort's**would be, who was a far more powerful dark caster.

His body stiffened when he felt the skin on his hand grow boils. He watched as the skin erupted and lymphatic liquid filled the bubble. It continued to grow and he bit hard on his tongue when they burst one after the other.

He glanced at his stinging right hand. The red fresh skin was scraping blood.

As if something was writing on it.

He grasped his wrist and winced at the feeling of a quill scratching on the exposed fresh flesh.

The scraping stopped but behind remained a burning discomfort.

The words read: _**I will obey**_

"... Certain orders are not to be ignored." The smooth voice made his skin crawl.

He opened the door with his left hand and closed it quietly as quickly as he could. He furrowed his eyebrows in uncontrolled anger mixed with pain.

* * *

He stretched his legs on the couch in the Library. His friends had all left half an hour ago and now he was alone with his book. He had searched for the horcrux term in the book but hadn't found anything.

He knew nothing of its definition or how it looked like, if it was an object or if it was a spell but he knew it was related to death and immortality from _The Unknown of Ignotus_' excerpt he had read some weeks ago.

He figured it wouldn't be a bad idea to research about immortality when he was in danger of dying every time he met with the figure that every wizard and witch were afraid of.

He didn't know where exactly Voldemort was staying, he was only aware that it was on the third floor where the grand room was. He had avoided going anywhere that was not his room lately.

He scratched the back of his right hand and winced in pain. The raw wound seemed not to heal, probably an intentional after effect of the curse. He frowned at the words registered on his skin.

He had obeyed his father blindingly before, wanting to please him, wanting to be praised. Now such wishes seemed trivial and silly. He had witnessed his true _father_ the day before.

Now he was to befriend Potter. How could he? It was impossible after so many years of hate and resent and war between the two of them for a friendly relationship to form. Voldemort should have been aware of that when he had 'graced' him with this mission.

He couldn't help but feel paranoid that the Dark Lord had given him an impossible mission on purpose so he would be punished.

The door was opened.

He quickly sat into a straight _dignified_ position when he glimpsed his father's cane as he walked past the door. He disillusioned his book to appear as a pillow.

Draco lowered his gaze, afraid that his eyes might speak more than his lips would.

"Draco." His fathered acknowledged his existence.

"... Father." The word sounded alien to him now. He hadn't wanted to profess it.

Draco noticed how Lucius glided over the floor to the opposite couch and sat down with every bit of grace a Malfoy would. He flicked his hand and Draco was surprised to see firewhisky and two glasses appear on the table.

His father's gloved hand poured a small quantity on his cup and served himself at the end.

Draco watched in continued surprise and suspicion as Lucius raised his glass to his lips and drank it slowly. He positioned the glass back on the table.

"It is uncivilized to neglect or refuse a drink that has been poured by someone older than you, Draco."

The Slytherin looked at his father suspiciously. He had been denied the authorization to drink alcohol when he had first been offered by a Death Eater when he had arrived at the Manor.

Lucius chuckled.

"Think of it as nothing. It is only a scenario when a father wishes to have a drink with his son." He drank the remaining contents in one shot.

Draco would never understand his father. He had _cruccioed_ him with very palpable intent 24hours ago and now he wished to have a drink with the underage him who had been denied to access to alcohol by the same man.

He sneered at the glass and took it in one shot. He could feel his father's eyes on him until the very last gulp.

He placed the cup with the care a taught pureblood would.

His father poured him another cup.

"How are things with you and Ms. Parkinson?"

His eyes shot up to meet his father's calm gaze.

He hadn't mentioned to anyone in his family that he had bedded Pansy in the past. Whatever sources his father had, they were out of date. And he had no need to make him suspect so.

"Fine, she's a well behaved woman."

His father exhaled shortly.

"Good. Her family approves of a betrothal."

Draco shot up. He stood over his father who was now glaring at him for his impulsive act.

"Just because we're in a relationship doesn't mean we want to marry. This era is not like 50 years ago." He hissed his words.

His father ignored his small outburst and attended to his drink once more. Draco stood there, waiting impatiently at what his father would answer to his denial.

"You are to ask Ms. Parkinson's hand after you've completed our Lord's mission that has been assigned to you. I will hear nothing else, nothing less." Lucius rose himself from the table elegantly.

Draco balled his fists at his sides. He had never felt this helpless in these last two days. He furiously picked his full glass and tilted his head as he one shoot it.

The glass made more impact than necessary on the table.

Lucius merely quirked an eyebrow at him before wordlessly vanishing the bottle.

He watched his father's retreating back and never before had his hand itched so badly to curse him as he had been cursed by him.

After Draco heard the door close, he stared off into space.

He was _weak_. He couldn't defend himself against someone older.

_He needed to learn_.

He unpocketed his wand and levitated the book after returning it to its previous appearance.

He placed it on its previous shelf.

It was time to study offensive Dark Magic. What better place than a dark wizard's library?

Days passed in relief for Draco. He had not been requested to be in the presence of Voldemort. He would only meet his father and mother for meals and he would act then as if he were every bit as before.

In the end, it had been Lucius who had told him to attack when least suspected and according to Voldemort... _some orders weren't meant to be ignored._ He would act like everything was the same; he would keep the atmosphere relaxed.

No one would notice Draco exhausting his magic every night after practicing Dark Magic in the basement.


	9. The Ninth virtue: selfcontrol

A/N: It may not seem so, because I am mostly silent with you but whenever you review, I get new ideas from your comments on how to progress the story. On how to better it. So even if you think your review wouldn't be much, to me it is. Every single one.

_Warning_: man rape ahead

* * *

_**"Most powerful is he who has himself in his own power"**_

_- Seneca_

* * *

**Chapter 9**

_**G**_ood evening, Draco."

Draco nodded to one of his father's acquaintances from the Ministry.

"Good evening, Mr. Rockwood. It is pleasing to find you well." Small polite talk was verisimilar most of the times when not complete bollocks.

He had practice in the matter and thus Draco played with words like a professional pianist did with a keyboard, gliding his pleasant melodic way into everyone's approval.

Rockwood's pupils dilated slightly in appreciation and a small smile on the corner of his lips betrayed his otherwise cold features.

A privately hired string quartet provided Haydn, Chopin, Strauss and Bach to the most sensitive ears. Hypocritically, the most appreciated composers were muggles.

"Indeed, how could I not be? Excellent ambiance, fine wine and your father's private invitation would lift anyone's foul spirits."

Lucius rarely bestowed attention upon anyone. Exclusivity made it highly searched for and it was not given easily. Rockwood was in a high position in the Ministry.

"You honour my mother with your praises, Mr. Rockwood." It all came to exaggerating small subjects of dialogue and presenting them onto a silver plate with a subtle flourish.

And of course, making one feel the centre of all attention.

"Quite so, Draco." Narcissa bowed gracefully, her sapphire silk gown gliding with her gentle movement. "Come, Mr. Rockwood, I have deliberately chosen a Vintage Port from 1873. You must taste it."

"Indeed, I most definitely do. Pardon my sudden leave, Draco." Rockwood smiled politely at him.

He forced one in return.

Narcissa giggled warmly and took Rockwood's offered arm.

Draco refrained from sighing and loosening the silver cravat tucked in his white suit. The Masquerade that was hosted by his Mother under the name of the Malfoys would only start at 11pm. Meanwhile, an hour before, the guests would communicate and introduce acquaintances to one another to give time to other late guests to arrive.

Appetizers were served with expensive alcohol which was magically poured into glasses after the person had pointed his preferred drink.

The ballroom was decorated with long dark red curtains that billowed onto the grey marble floor. A gigantic silver chandelier decorated the middle of the white high ceiling.

Everything was _perfect_. The guests seemed entertained; Lucius was conversing with some Ministry men he had invited, no doubt in high position from their expensively branded waistcoats and shoes.

Parties bored Draco. There was nothing but politics to be discussed.

Parkinson, Blaise, Goyle and Crabbe were all sitting on the couches near the east wall. They were silent when he approached them.

He suspected they were discussing Draco's growing involvement with the Dark Lord's plans. He doubted they knew his first order was to befriend Potter.

"Hello, Draco. You look dashing tonight."

He discreetly rolled his eyes.

"You're not far behind, Parkinson." He offered politely.

Crabbe and Goyle looked as if they didn't belong to their suits.

Blaise, he noticed appraisingly, fit the shoes he wore. His dark blue suit and black tie brought emphasis to his eyes.

"Draco" he hated how his name was sung every time Pansy pronounced it "my father wishes to meet you."

News of their sudden plan of bethrodal should have reached her. He wondered how she had reacted to it; she would have to separate from Blaise before news of their engagement would spread. He nodded to her and followed at the tail of her pearl white long dress with confident strides.

As unbelievable as it sounded, he had had a tutor who had taught him how to walk and maintain a certain posture of polite detachment that exuded self confidence and pride fit of a pureblood.

Pansy stopped ahead of him and curtsied lightly. Father and daughter exchanged silly formalities before his fellow housemate motioned for him.

He took one unwavering step forward and bowed at the waist. "Pleasure to meet your acquaintance, Mr. Parkinson."

"Ah, yes, Mr. Draco. You're just like my daughter has described you to be." Mr. Parkinson was a fit man for his age and had a thin upturned moustache that didn't quite compliment his high cheekbones.

"Yes, I can see why she is so smitten with you. A fine gentleman, if I may say so."

He bowed again in a fake display of modesty. _Name to upkeep, name to uphold_.

Out of the corner of his eyes he saw Pansy's cheeks reddening at her father's confession.

So she was smitten with him, hm? He couldn't deny he had _smitten _her a few times...

"Not at all, Mr. Parkinson." He smiled politely to his future father-in-law. "Your daughter is a very generous and well mannered lady. I can see from whom she inherited her grace, if I'm allowed the imprudence."

Parkinson's moustache ruffled in satisfaction at his empty remarks.

People were odd. Even if they were aware the small talk from other guests was only pleasantries and barely held any truth in it, they would still consider it as honesty if a compliment was made to their person.

Pansy looked uncomfortable being the subject of the conversation.

"Excuse us, father." She bowed her head to her father and took Draco's arm and made him follow her. One must not linger with the adults if they weren't considered one yet, else they would appear as children seeking attention.

He was being walked to where Blaise, Goyle and Crabbe were discussing Quidditch moves in a much calmer demeanour than they would, had they been somewhere else.

Pansy sat near Blaise but refrained from personal contact and continued sipping on her previously abandoned rose tea.

He was about to head to the balcony; his housemates were too quiet and it made him more uncomfortable and alone in the grand ballroom filled with dozens of purebloods.

Watching every move he made and every word he spoke was more tiresome than it looked...

He froze.

The people around him spun quickly and disappeared in a white smoke.

There was nothing around him, no one. Everything was silent.

His eyebrows were stressing the lines between them.

He slowly turned his head to the left.

Slowly...

Slowly, so he could delay the dread a bit longer.

_There_.

A man standing with his hands clasped behind his back, a calm posture, his chin tilted a bit higher than usual,

staring at him.

Every muscle in his legs turned to stone.

Somewhere, his breathing had stopped.

Red, all around his body. Like someone had taken a red quill and outlined his shape with it. But the lines were smudged. Faded.

Draco instantly knew.

The foreign face that no one seemed to pay attention to belonged to none other than Voldemort.

_Voldemort_.

Then the wide lips stretched into a smile.

It looked out of place.

But _He_ knew.

He knew that he knew.

He didn't dare lift his eyes above the nasal level of the unrecognizable face. A glamour.

He didn't want to be read.

_Silly thought_. Voldemort didn't need eye contact to read anyone.

_Why was he here?_ Draco hadn't seen nor heard of him for almost a week and now he appeared in a disguise to a ball?

_Why?_

The glamoured Voldemort spun on his heel and walked with an uncharacteristic friendly smile – which on his original features would have chilled Draco to the bone – toward Lucius and Rockwood.

He watched interested as Lucius shook Voldemort's hand and introduced him to the Ministry worker.

If his memory didn't betray him, Rockwood was the personal assistant of the Minister of Magic.

He couldn't hear what they were talking about.

But it made sense.

What better place to recruit more allies than a social gathering? Powerful potential forces were present tonight. Having the personal assistant of the Minister on the Dark side would mean easy access to any information and to the Minister himself.

The way Lucius kept a respectful demeanour toward the disguised Voldemort inclined Draco to think that his father knew about the glamour.

"Draco? Are you bored?"

Pansy's voice came from behind him.

He shook his head.

Whatever involved Voldemort, he didn't want to involve himself more into it.

When he turned around, a drink was pushed onto his hands.

"Here, have this. It was spiked." She winked at him.

He gulped it down in one shot and ignored the weird look Pansy gave him.

"Let me, I'll go refill it." When she reached for his glass, her own tipped over his white pants.

He instinctively scrambled backwards but the liquid had sunk into the fabric and a brown stain spread over quickly.

"Oh! I'm so sorry, that was very clumsy of me."

He was about to wave off the incident so that the problem wouldn't escalate; some guests were already whispering about it and others stared and giggled.

He saw Pansy reaching for a handkerchief in her purse and grabbed her hand before it would do the intended to prevent the humiliating scene of her patting him fruitlessly on his thigh.

"Pansy, don't fret over it. You're forgetting your manners." He let her hand go.

She clenched the expensive silk in a fist. "You're right. A lady wouldn't touch a man so improperly in public." His eyes followed her teeth biting her lips. Suddenly, he noticed how pretty they were. He wanted to kiss them.

He felt a familiar discomfort in his lower regions.

Surprise hit him. He was getting hard from Pansy's mouth?

Pansy's mouth...

On his cock.

His breath hitched. He turned around quickly and walked in long strides to exit the ballroom, away from the privy eyes.

A second set of hurried heels followed him.

"There's no need for you to come, Pansy." He wanted her away from him.

"No, it's the least I can do."

Her voice had such a pleasant ring to it. He wanted to hear her moans; he couldn't remember them. He wanted to _burry_ himself into her.

The more his pants tightened around his erection the less his rationality worked.

He took two flights of stairs at the same time, hoping he could outrun Pansy and lock her out of his room but the clicks of the heels sped up to keep up with his pace.

He was moving slower than usual.

"There's definitely no need to follow me."

"I insist. You don't look so well."

He closed his eyes and sighed to keep calm. Once women decided something, it was extremely hard to change their mind about it.

He passed some corridors until he reached the door to his room. Without turning to her he said as firmly as he could.

"Stay here, I'll have to change."

He didn't wait for her reply to slam the door closed.

His head was spinning from the change of the blood flow and he clenched his teeth in pain when he removed his pants.

The bulge in his boxers kept growing abnormally. He didn't remember the last time he had been this hard.

At this point he didn't care if Pansy had her ears glued to the door; he carefully took his erection out while hissing at the feeling.

Relief. He needed relief.

His head was burning and his heartbeat was pounding and his shaft was throbbing.

He gave a tentative stroke and his head swam with the sensation.

He sat on his bed and stroked again, moving his palm to the tip of the head to spread the fluid already seeping out over his member, smoothing the strokes.

He sped up and gasped at the sensation. His heart beat accelerated and the muscles in his stomach tensed.

He didn't remember the last time he got this much pleasure out of masturbating. He didn't remember the last time he had masturbated. _Fuck_.

He closed his eyes tightly and his breath came out in small gasps. His hand moved faster.

_Oh fuck_.

_Yesss._

His mind was- he couldn't- everything was just so...

_Oh God! More pressure, faster._

His hand clenched tightly around the base and he gasped a moan. The pulse of his heartbeat was pounding in his ears.

He moaned openly when something hot and wet teased his neck.

"... Draco."

He hadn't found Pansy whispering in his ear as sexy as it was now.

His body felt uncomfortably warm. Pansy's against his back was cooler. Her hands roamed over his arms worshiping him and lowered over his own until they touched his shaft.

"_Fuck_, yes." He tilted his head backwards and captured Pansy's lips. She tasted of the strange drink she had shared with him.

_Pansy_...

He heard her yelp when he quickly turned around and pushed her down onto his bed. She looked flushed and her breasts were falling and rising quickly with her breathing.

He grabbed each of her wrists and pushed them onto the bed near her head.

"**Yes**, Draco..."

She slowly spread her legs wider.

His member twitched.

As he looked down on her, he tried to remember what he was doing. He was going to fuck Pansy. Why?

He shook his head. Thinking _hurt_.

But why was he... with Pansy.

Why was he this debilitated? What had triggered it?

He lowered his head and clenched his eyes shut in pain. His brain wasn't cooperating.

"_Shh_, don't think, Draco. Just do what you want, what you **need** to do."

He felt her sex rubbing against his own.

He groaned. "Fuck."

"_Yes_, **fuck** me, Draco."

"... No... something isn't right..." he had broken up with her "... I want you but I don't **want** you... no." He shook his head. It didn't help to clear it.

"You clearly..." he groaned again when she rubbed herself against him "... want me. Don't deny it. Just let yourself go."

_Shit_. He wanted to, but at the same time it felt out of place. He didn't want her. He- he didn't know what he wanted. Just for it to stop.

For this intensity to stop.

He clenched his teeth. He removed his hand from her wrists, trembling while he did so. The act pained him more than it should.

"No." His voice sounded weaker than usual.

"Go. Now." He couldn't even convince himself.

He heard a feminine sigh. His eyes snapped open when he felt his world changing positions.

He was lying on his back.

He looked up confusedly at Pansy.

She had a wand in her hand. She waved it once more and a cold pressure appeared on his wrists and ankles.

He had been magically chained. To his own bed.

"What's the meaning of this, Parkinson?" He hated how it lacked the coldness he wanted to transmit.

"Why don't you ever give in to your instincts, Draco?" She sounded as if she was talking to herself.

"When you want to fuck, you should fuck; when you want to love someone, you should love." She lifted her dress to straddle him.

"W-what?" The way she was positioned allowed him to feel her humid underwear. His cock throbbed at the thought of her wet.

"I know you love me, Draco. I've seen how you act uninterested around Blaise, but I **know **you. I know you're jealous inside, my Slytherin prince." She purred against his ear.

_What the..._

"I'm what? _Jealous_?" The indignation flowing through him cleared his mind a bit.

"Of course. After what we had, Draco... It's impossible to feel nothing. I know you pushed me away because you were afraid to admi-"

"_Afraid_? Are you deranged, woman? You've been reading too many mind numbing silly novels." He tugged on the chains. They were sturdy. "It is what it is. If someone avoids you it's because they don't want to be near you, you stupid girl."

She gave him a disturbingly calm smile. "The more you love someone, the more you want to push them away. I understand that, Draco, it's in your nature. That's why I am the one for you. Because I understand you."

He tugged wildly on the chains for a few seconds before he stopped his fruitless attempts. He turned to glare at her.

His eyes widened when he felt her shaved slick sex sliding teasingly on his now half erect member. By now it should have been completely limp.

"Don't look at me like that, baby." He grimaced at the pet name "I know you need encouragement. I'm sorry that I had to drug you, but it was the only way." His closed his eyes and attempted to calm himself so as not to curse her with wandless magic. "Blaise has been nothing to me; I only used him to make you pay attention to me."

Her slippery folds glided over his shaft. He bit on his lower lip.

"He will never reach your level. You're perfect. You have the top grades in Slytherin, you lead our team to victory, you're gorgeous and you're... _generously_ endowed." Her giggle made him roll his eyes.

So she was attracted to his looks and his reputation. She and the rest of the Slytherin females.

"I love you." His member was grabbed and its head was positioned at her entrance.

His eyes widened. "No, stop! I don't want this. I don't love you, Parkinson. You're fucking delusional!"

She seemed hurt by him for not calling her by her given name but seemed immune to the rest of the insults.

It went in smoothly and all at once.

Oh fuck.

Draco threw his head back and clenched his eyes shut. Fuck. He didn't want this.

Well... physically he did but psychologically he didn't. The contradictions were fucking with his mind.

He clenched his eyes when she started to move. He panted when she squeezed him.

"This is sick... you shouldn't- do this."

His mind was melting. What did she slip him?

"Oh, _yes_! Draco, yes!" She moaned unrestrainedly.

She accelerated the pace and Draco couldn't help but harden inside her.

A moan of appreciation escaped her lips.

She lay on his torso so her breasts were on his chest.

She bit his neck and Draco winced at the pain.

"I'm so glad we're getting married. When I told father that I wanted you as my husband, he immediately arranged a deal with your father. I'm so glad..." Draco turned his head when she searched for his lips to steal a kiss.

Out of the corner of his eyes he saw the hurt expressed on her face.

But he didn't care.

This was not love. Drugging him had been a low blow. This was forced sex that resulted from her self induced paranoia.

He felt betrayed and bound forever to her like he was to the bed now. He was going to be forced into a marriage he didn't want only to satisfy a rich pureblood's daughter's wishes.

How was this love? Love didn't even exist.

Pansy groaned above him and he felt her orgasm stimulating his cock into ejaculation. He bit his lip as hard as he could, he tried to concentrate on the pain but concentrating was hard for him at the moment so he could only give in to the release.

His climax vibrated from his toes to his head and he couldn't help the low drawn out moan.

Pansy was panting above him.

He felt the magic around his wrists and feet disappear.

The lunatic female tried to _cuddle_ to him. He looked at her as if she had grown another head and pushed her forcefully off of him.

He was rewarded with a surprised yelp.

"W-what?" She looked at him confusedly.

He sat up abruptly and quickly drew his wand from the pockets of his soiled pants and staggering from the sudden movement and the residue of the drug in his system, he pointed it at her.

"You are lucky I have standards about physically hurting a woman. Get the fuck out of my sight, Parkinson."

She rose from the ground incredulous.

"Bu-"

"_**The next time**_" he interrupted her "you cross paths with me or try some shit like this again, I _promise_ you I will forget about my status and _cruccio_ you until you'd wish you were dead."

"D-"

"_**Don't.**_ Fucking. Speak." He hissed.

"Leave. _Immediately._" He pointed at the door.

He was inwardly surprised to see her genuinely afraid of him as she rushed out of the room without a word. He wasn't aware he could intimidate the dimwit.

He glared at the door for a moment.

His mind should have analyzed and taken in what had happened but the drug wasn't allowing any deep thought process.

He glanced over to the bed and noticed a pair of white laced panties. He sneered at them and raised his wand to watch them burn instantly. He levitated the ashes into the trash can near his desk.

His head swam from his use of magic and rage fumed inside him at the possibility of the drug having messed up with his core.

He collapsed onto his bed – not before _scorgifying_ it – and the moment his head hit the pillow he was already asleep.


	10. First warning

A/N: Surprisingly, I am not dead. I could go on about excuses and promises, but does it have a meaning, really? I've uploaded this chapter mostly to pass you this notice: I have decided not to update anymore until I've completed the story (i've written 20+ pages besides this chapter) so then I can truly return and post regular updates and not leave you folks wondering when you'll see a new chapter. I can disclose that exciting things are going to happen. A lot of plot has grown in my head. It's just a matter of sitting down and writting it.

Also, I've changed the name of the story since I saw it more fit:

**_Discidium_**

- which means 'rift' in latin. It is linked to the rift between Draco and Voldemort and also _discidium _can be interpreted as 'space, a hole' which is related to time travel (ahoy, spoilers!)

* * *

**_We do not see space, time and the universe the way they are, we see space, time and the universe the way we are._**

_- David Lewis anderson_**_  
_**

* * *

His head was turned to the side, unmoving.

The room was silent, yet the scene kept replaying in his mind with slow deliberation, the echo still resounding in his ears.

Draco's eyes were downcast, his bangs shadowing his forehead from Lucius' unfriendly gaze. His cheek stung from the impact of his father's hand.

The young Slytherin was more shocked by his father's unjustified violence than by the pain that left a warm trail on his skin.

"Mr. Parkinson approached me yesterday to inquire about his daughter's wellbeing. He stated that the last person she was seen with was you before she was found crying in the restroom, by Mr. Parkinson himself."

Draco clenched his hands in fists. _She had dared to play the miserable part when it had been her who had assaulted him!_

Embarrassment washed over Draco.

The Malfoy heir turned his gaze to his father's impeccable shoes. It had been the second time he had been at the receiving end of Lucius' hand that week. Most of the hurt was done to his pride.

The older Malfoy sighed.

"I had expected better from you, Draco. Mr. Parkinson is a very influential figure at the Ministry; it will bode you well if you refrained from giving him motives to associate the Malfoy name with anything negative."

His jaw clenched. He hadn't even agreed to the marriage and yet already he had to play the good husband to Pansy.

Lucius must have seen the defiance in his body language. He tapped his cane on the marble floor once.

"Did I make myself clear?" His tone allowed no negative response.

Draco dropped his head in a nod to avoid eye contact in case he would lose his self control.

He spoke through his teeth. "Yes, father."

* * *

Snape would glance from time to time to his Lord. He had heard of the rumors pertaining to his Master's outstanding academic performances, yet it was all together different to actually witness it.

Voldemort was clad in casual black robes, no doubt a good choice of clothing when it came to brewing potions. The task was long and could be non-hygienic yet the Dark Lord made an art out of it.

Snape had never seen any wizard move so precisely when chopping roots and multitasking the stirring of a potion and measurement of fluids. He had been staring for longer than ten seconds and if the Dark Lord was aware of being observed, which he certainly was, he didn't give any indications of it.

The Potion Master turned to his own brewing to which he had been precisely instructed to its proceedings and ingredients by his Lord. Even though he had been praised for his skills and efficiency in the Potions area he felt himself pale in comparison to the Dark Lord.

The man was brilliant when he was focused.

"Severus..." Snape jumped out of his thoughts at his Lord's voice. It had been over half an hour since any word had been whispered in the dungeon.

"I'll need you to finish in seven minutes, no more, no less."

"Yes, my Lord." He turned to his own cauldron.

The Dark Lord had approached him this morning with the need of help to brew two potions at the same time. For what, he hadn't specified and he hadn't dared to ask. He hadn't heard of any potion like the one he was brewing, but he could guess to its finality. A tonic, he deduced. It wasn't destined to affect physical targets, such as muscles, but to invigorate magic.

He assumed it was because of the Dark Lord's recent rebirth but it seemed too simple reasoning and too unnecessary. Being in the same room as the man was stifling to his senses; the dark magic wafting from him didn't make Snape think that he needed to intensify his powers.

He had been given very short and objective instructions limited to the brewing of his own potion; what the Dark Lord was concocting he did not know. He had been busy creating his own cauldron; it was an advanced potion, different from the Pepper-up, and it had been his first time to execute it.

He had to do it flawlessly. The Dark Lord had him by his side because he expected as much.

Snape uncorked a vial and poured one quarter of his potion into it, just as the written instructions stated.

"My Lord, I've finished the brewing." Without even glancing at his Potion Master, Voldemort answered.

"Punctual as expected, Severus. Leave the vial on your table, you may leave."

Snape quirked his eyebrows at the dismissal. He wasn't going to be allowed to witness the rest of the proceedings...

"Yes, my Lord." Even though the man was turned away from him, Snape bowed nonetheless. He placed the cork on the vial and left the Malfoy dungeon. But before he closed the door, his curiosity slowed him down as he saw his Master grabbing the vial and filling the rest of the glass with the second potion that was unknown to him.

He didn't comprehend why he had mixed two potions into the same vial in those specific quantities but he had no time to dwell on it for the red eyes stared coldly at him and Snape felt as if he were a child who had been caught listening into an adult's conversation.

He lowered his onyx eyes to the ground and bowed his head before promptly closing the door.

* * *

"Ah, how boring! Why do Christmas holidays pass on so quickly? I'm telling you, each year they shorten them without us being aware of it!"

"We're being tricked, I'm pretty sure of that."

Draco and his... group - that's what he had decided to call the lot of them - were sitting inside a cosy and well decorated coffee shop. The windows were slightly foggy due to the difference between the exterior and interior temperatures.

Parkinson, Goyle, Crabbe and Zabini, the usual Slytherins, were sitting on the same table as him and were socializing over warm cocoa and tea. Their parents had been called for a meeting with the Dark Lord again in the Malfoy Manor.

Draco had simply made an excuse of needing to restock his school supplies for potions in Diagon Alley in order not to have to stay under the same roof where murderous plans were certainly being plotted by Voldemort and his followers.

It was also out of fear of his presence being requested again by Voldemort that he chose to... take a stroll outside. He didn't run. It would be too disgraceful...

Draco coughed.

He sipped on his warm Earl Grey tea as he eyed his companions. _More like leeches_. As soon as he had instructed a house elf on his future whereabouts, these four had attached to him and followed without his approval or denial. They hadn't even asked if they could tag along; they had simply walked beside him, talking and laughing as they exited the Manor.

Goyle had tried to indulge him into some conversations about Quidditch but Draco had simply rolled his eyes and steered his body toward the window and further away from them. Pansy had yet to speak to him... that wench. He hadn't forgotten her attitude of martyr in front of her father toward a situation where he had been the real victim.

Because of her Lucius had lifted his hand on him, which used to be an extremely rare occurrence. He scratched his cheek absentmindedly as he imagined the sting of the slap.

Blaise seemed less and less close to Pansy. Today he wasn't even sitting next to her. He probably knew of the engagement? Or had Pansy broken up the _fling_ between them? He didn't care. She could announce to anyone she wanted, it would only work to his advantage on humiliating her in the future.

If she wanted to play games, she needed to be aware that she had challenged the master of them.

He took another sip as he watched the first snow of that day starting to fall.

He wished to be in his Library to research on the horcruxes that he knew nothing about. He had yet to stumble on any definitions or references. Something called to him, it sounded extremely important.

Another motive for his stroll was to go to Knocturn Alley and maybe find books on the subject. But with these four near him, doing so while being discreet was impossible.

He winced at Pansy's high pitched laugh.

* * *

"You sure you don't want to hang out with us next, Draco?"

He denied Crabbe's invitation. He had other things he'd like to do and being in the presence of Pansy was making him brood.

"He has his own secrets to deal with, Vincent." Goyle tried to jab him but his smirk was quickly erased by Draco's sneer.

"Careful whom you talk about, Goyle."

He walked away from them. "I'll see you on first day of school." He waved at them as he retreaded.

He hoped they understood he had dismissed their presence for the rest of the week.

It was five in the afternoon, he had few time left before he needed to be at home. Draco frowned as he walked down the streets toward Knocturn Alley. He was still _fifteen_ thus a _child_ who had a curfew...

Yet grown up enough to witness the torture and murder of a muggle family. Humans were quite the hypocrites.

It didn't matter. He would grow independent soon. What were two more years? He would be done with school and be of legal age, which meant he would have unlimited access to his Gringgots account.

He stumbled on the alley's dirty steps and cursed. He had slipped on something and he wasn't eager to inspect what type of substance it was. A filthy man was sitting in the corner of a closed and rundown store. Dressed in tattered robes, his hair was so matted and oily it stuck to his forehead.

The repulsive homeless wizard had sniggered at his stumble. Draco sneered at him and walked past him without sparing him another glance. _Disgusting creature_.

If he had been repulsed previously, he was now appalled by the sight he had walked further into; the street was paved in human dejects, trash littered the floor freely and wizards and witches had built nestles wherever they could avoid the falling snow.

He had stopped in mid-step as the **smell** hit his nostrils. The sour sweat of unwashed people hit him the hardest even in the blistering cold that had frozen his nose. He couldn't help but watch as several snowflakes precipitated onto a pile of faeces and promptly melted, indicating it was _fresh_.

Draco gagged and almost instantly the homeless seemed to break out of the frozen statues they had pictured. They moved with incredible speed after they had asserted his expensive robes and shoes. He tensed, ready to strike at the grovelling approaching creatures.

"Spare us a coin, won't ya lad?"

"A little holiday spirit to open your hand, young man?"

"Please, boy, I haven't eaten in over two days." The whiny weak voice came from behind him and Draco turned around in a second. The old and dirty witch had no teeth and her gloveless hands were spindly and sported black nails. He almost pitied her. "Now those shoes of yours would feed me for a we-" she had tried to reach the polish of his black boots but Draco faltered a step before she touched him.

The young Slytherin frowned at the filthiness of the street and the people inhabiting it like parasites. He felt a tug on his robes.

" 'Tis warm feeling-"

He didn't give the unwashed parasite a chance to finish for he spun around with his wand in hand and aimed at the terrified dirty male face. "Don't touch me, you filthy _vermin._"

Every other homeless cowered away in fright of his wand.

Draco scanned the walls for signs with the name of the street he was in. He couldn't believe that Knocturn Alley had this level of disturbing place to it.

He saw the homeless trying to plead with him once more and two of them had even dared to crawl to him, their undernourished arms reaching to him. He stiffened and turned back, his feet not running but building a very quick pace.

He passed the first homeless man who had laughed at him and he met his oily eyes before skipping two steps as he climbed back to Diagon Alley. The cackle had followed him.

Draco released a shuddering breath as he stepped onto clean pavement. He glanced back at the street only to notice the wizard drawing his ratty robes closer to him in a fruitless attempt to keep more warmth surrounding his body.

Silver eyes inspected the stark contrast between Knocturn and Diagon Alley. There were some families in richly clad outfits taking a stroll outside, some entering and exiting cosy coffee shops followed by laughter and enjoyment. _Les Miserables_ was a much more fitting name to replace _Knocturn_.

Society was so unbalanced. There were those who died alone in a miserable street without even having a proper meal or a bed, constantly wondering about the motive of their birth and existence, and there were those like himself, who had too much money in their pockets and too many servants at his disposal.

He sighed as he walked to find another street that would open to Knocturn Alley. He could feel pity at their misery but he wasn't going to regret being wealthy. Whom would he fool? Draco Malfoy wasn't one for charity.

He turned left to enter the ominous yet cleaner street. Some darkly clad wizards would spare him a glance and he would stare back unfazed. This was the commercial part of the Alley. There were much less people there and those who walked kept their heads down to avoid being recognized and travelled at a brisk pace in and out of the stores.

Draco had a small notion where to go; his father was an avid dark artefacts buyer and sometimes he would accompany him on his searches, mostly for the Dark Lord's interest. He entered _Between the Webs_, the standard doorbell ringing as he stepped onto the badly lighted store.

He spotted the old woman at the counter fumbling through papers, too busy to greet her only costumer. He mused she wouldn't do it either way. The store was very small and dusty, he noticed with a sneer.

There were only books, one could not find any other items if he searched.

Dozens of books upon the shelves stole his attention and he tripped on a stack placed on the floor where he hadn't noticed them. He looked back to see the shop owner sparing him a discontented frown.

He shrugged it off as being her fault; should have kept a more organized space for costumers to inspect the merchandise.

There were three bookshelves with 5 shelves each; that was the amount that had been able to be crammed inside and Draco scanned the first shelf through titles that might be related to immortality and death.

He was sure he had spent over half an hour examining until he moved to the second shelf. He wasn't a very patient man and he was straining to keep his eyes focused and not skip any title, else his search would be fruitless. There were antimagic wards protecting the books; probably to avoid any decay over the years due to residual magic.

Forty minutes had gone by. He huffed as he had manually finished inspecting all the shelves. There was nothing remotely near to what he was searching for. He looked at the shop owner for a bit when an idea came to him.

"Madam, do you happen to store any other books besides these?" He gave her a polite smile when the brown eyes landed on him, inspecting. Hopefully she would budge to a young educated man, no?

"And why is a _boy_ asking?" Her eyes travelled from his polished black leather shoes to his neatly combed platinum hair as an emphasis.

_Aha_. So she had something stored, else her answer wouldn't have been so. He removed a small sack of galleons from his robes and strolled gracefully to the counter. "Age matters not when money is concerned." He placed the velvet dark green bag on the wooden surface and heard the satisfying sound of rattling coins.

The middle aged woman quirked an eyebrow to the bag and then back at him. She stared and inspected him for a moment, wishing to see if he would falter.

Draco answered with one of his eyebrows.

He had seen Lucius haggle frequently enough to know that the valuable items were stored away from prying eyes... and hands.

"Very well..." She removed a stack of keys from a drawer and walked ahead. He followed.

She unlocked a door he had not previously noticed before, at the far back of the store. It had probably been under the disillusionment charm to keep unwanted costumers away from it. She opened it for him and stepped aside.

"... Take your time."

Draco's eyes widened at the massive storage displayed in front of him. He had been stupidly mistaken for assuming that the building was extremely small; _hundreds_ of bookshelves thrice taller than him were organized with tomes of all imagined origins, all focused on the Dark Arts and some bordering to neutrality.

Bewildered, he entered the room wondering how many weeks it would take him to go through every book.

* * *

He gripped at his blond hair in frustration and huffed. Two hours, two _bloody_ hours ever since he set foot in this _goddam_ store and no reference to what a horcrux could be – a spell, an item, a deity, a code...?

His searching spells didn't work and he suspected the room had a ward against spell casting to preserve the books since some were very tattered and worn.

If it wasn't here, it could be nowhere in Knocturn. He had gone to the only specialized book store and he doubted he could find anything somewhere else.

He turned to pick his robes which had been previously discarded on a chair to favour his movement. As he bent to pick it up, a glimpse of a movement startled him.

He snapped his head to the right and cringed at the crack it gave.

He was sure...

He narrowed his eyes and unpocketed his wand. Step by step, Draco slowly approached the corridor he had spotted movement from. Maybe he was just delusional, he reasoned with himself. The strain of a persistent two hour long search might have impaled his vision.

He heard a shuffling of feet.

Quickly as he could, he rounded the corner with his wand at ready only to catch the glimpse of a billowing cloak for no longer than a second. He ran after it as quickly as his Quidditch reflexes as a Seeker had trained him to.

He panted as he rounded yet another shelf and met emptiness. Whoever it had been was already gone. Frustrated with himself for having lost the race he viciously kicked the wall connected to one of the bookshelves.

The furniture rattled for a bit and he feared that it could fall. That's when he noticed a book that sat upon a wooden stool in the corner. It had a grey hardcover entitled _Dark Wizards throughout the History_. He had seen it before; this was one of the first sets he had inspected. But he hadn't left it there...

He frowned at the closed book and inspected closer what seemed to be a blond hair stuck between the pages. His? He pulled it and quickly discarded the idea since it was too long to belong to him. He pushed at the strand when it met resistance. It was stuck.

He opened the book where it was marked and his eyes landed on a fresh print. All the other letters were a bit chopped in places, nonetheless understandable, yet there was a small piece of paper, less than half a page that sported a paragraph that seemed to have been printed recently.

His heart skipped a beat as he located the word horcrux along a sentence. His head spun. Finally, _finally_ he had found something! He eagerly read.

_A Horcrux is a very powerful object in which one can hide a fragment of their soul for the purpose of attaining immortality. Creating a single Horcrux allows one to gain the ability to resurrect themselves if their body is destroyed. The more horcruxes one creates, the closer one is to achieving true immortality. Creating multiple Horcruxes is suggested to be costly to the creator, both diminishing their humanity and physically disfiguring them. _

He stared. A _soul_ inside an object? Who would have thought of such a thing? It was a terrifying thought but nonetheless, brilliant in a macabre way! But... how would one fragment their soul? Was there a spell for that? What would such a spell do? Could anyone do it on whatever object they wanted or were there specifications such as being identical or specifically crafted?

His head swam and he took a seat. He breathed out and then laughed. He had finally found the answer. He now grasped the reason for the absence of data; for a wizard concept to lack information was a rare occasion since the society was very ancient and preserved history throughout the centuries. It had to be dark and a danger to the function of society in order to be forbidden to write about it.

Just imagine...! Draco couldn't picture how the wizards would act if the commoner had access to such hazardous data. Everyone would want to be immortal.

And someone had deliberately wanted him to read this; for what purpose he couldn't figure. How would they know he had been searching for it?

Draco jumped out of his seat when the paper in his hand incinerated and he watched the ashes disappear into the air.

Without a warning, screams erupted from outside.

* * *

"Get down to it, boys!"

Mayhem started in less than 15 seconds – Malik smirked at the fleeing purebloods. It was so effortless to instigate panic than to calm it. The _Singuigal_ were efficient and weren't afraid to use dangerous curses; they were trained and followed the same noble goal. A mother yelled as a building imploded from ground level. He watched fascinated as it titled over, a big looming shadow overcastting the area that would crush the purebloods in its path.

How horrifically pleasant, he smiled.

The building that housed an expensive two story restaurant came down on the terrified woman without any pause.

How foolish to just stand and gape at impending death. They deserved it, every vile and tyrannical wizard that self categorized as «superior blood».

He sneered in disgust. Filthy and corrupted, yet they had the audacity to act holier-than-thou.

People cried and screamed in panic and horror at seeing their families dying in front of them.

Good.

"None will live. We'll make the world understand our power." He joined the battle, throwing dark curses and hexes. He caught a pedestrian with the heart attack inducing curse and an old man with _avada kedavra_.

"We be doing them a favour, boys. Let's end their misery!" Voiced his second in command, Vrudel. His violence was accompanied by creativity and touched by insanity.

* * *

Draco quickly walked out of the room to see the store owner casting protective charms around her ware with panicked movements.

She spotted him. "I'll have to ask you to leave for now, costumer. It seems there's been an attack nearby." He nodded to her in affirmation.

The older woman moved to magically conceal the door he had just walked out from.

"Is that door always locked whether there are people inside or not?"

She turned to him with an odd expression. "It locks automatically. This part of the store has very ancient protective charms. No one can come in without my strict authorization."

He raised an inquisitive eyebrow. "That's an interesting mechanism. How do the wards recognise the wizards?"

"Through your magical signature, Mr. Malfoy. Now I'm sorry, but I have quite a lot of-"

An explosion occurred near the store.

"- work. To close the store safely. I'm sure you understand." Without any other word she turned her back to him and frantically waved her wand to coat her books in preserving charms.

He left the store, his heart beating in slight panic.

The moment he stepped outside, he felt as if he had travelled through different dimensions. When he had been inside the store, everything sounded as if it were occurring much further away.

He deduced there had been silencing charms inside the building to provide a more comfortable reading environment to the costumers.

Now that he had abandoned the protective walls, he was bombarded by numerous sounds: feet hitting the pavement as people ran, screams of pain and terror, blasts of spells destroying the surroundings, laughs and hysterical cackles from the assailants.

He was suddenly blinded by the detonation of a building to his left. He covered his ears and cringed at the vibrations sent to his tympanum. Someone ran into him and almost knocked him off his feet and he was about to yell in indignation when more people bumped into his shoulder in a panicked run.

He tried to run out of the middle of the street to avoid the hoard of screaming wizards and witches of running him over. He pushed and shoved and finally reached the side walk which was covered in wreckage of buildings.

A glimpse of flesh caught his attention.

Draco stared at the hand peeking out of the debris. The fingers were bent in a 90 degree angle and shards stuck into the open flesh where nails were missing.

An involuntary flash of how the body would look beneath the collapsed building made his stomach churn. A flashback of a tortured muggle girl surfaced and he shuddered a breath of repulse.

The chaos slowly started to awaken Draco from his momentary trance.

"-resa! Theresa, stop it!"

He gripped his wand with renewed strength at the motherly cry. The pureblood, judging from her expensive robes, tugged at her 7 year old daughter's arm as the little one was trying to pry herself off from her mother. Her other hand outstretched in the direction of a doll that was on the ground a few meters away.

"No! Bethy! Mommy, Bethy is there!"

Another building exploded and he backed away reflexively. Blood curdling screams chilled his skin. More people had been crushed.

A jet of red light seared toward him and he ducked instinctively out of its path. What madness... It was a war zone. His head hurt from the constant assault of powerful explosions. He felt disoriented from having left a calm environment to enter a blood war in less than two steps.

He then registered the sound of yelled spells and hexes, wizards attacking the families which had walked down the street with smiles and pleased expression just 5 minutes ago. Wizarding families which were only running in a panicked frenzy and not fighting back the terrorists. They all had wands, why weren't they reciprocating?

On his left a pregnant woman collapsed on her bulging stomach. He watched in dismay as a wet puddle soaked the robes around her legs. The waters had broken.

Above her, the windows of a 3 story building shattered from a wild _reducto. _His mind worked at high speed.

From where she was standing, the glass would land on her and pierce her back and her skull. She would die trembling in the puddle of her broken waters with an unborn baby in her belly.

He pointed his wand and cast an _immobulus_ at the falling shards.

Time stilled.

He flicked his wand and the glass pulverized. The woman was unaware of the transpired; she was squirming and her face was contorted in excruciating pain. Draco ran toward her, ducked again to avoid a yellow jet, and when he kneeled to lift her up, he almost dropped her.

Her pale grey robe was stained in blood at the front. The woman screamed louder.

Sweat was accumulating at his forehead. He hadn't been taught how to proceed during a birth. Much less when a war was taking place!

Draco turned the woman on her back, afraid that the unborn would be crushed underneath her weight.

"Please, please..." She sobbed and chocked on her tears as a contraction wracked painfully through her body. She screamed again and locked his arm in a vice grip.

Merlin, what was he to do? He couldn't apparate yet! Were there no adults that could help her?

He scanned the street with frenzied eyes. People who were running would be flung down by an invisible rope; others would fall never to rise again. The attackers were clad in standard wizard black robes with the hood drawn over their heads to conceal their identity. The witch in labour screamed loudly.

One of the terrorists turned his obscured head to the sound. A chill passed through Draco's frame when a flash of white twisted into a smile from the darkness of the hood. It was directed at their location. The tall figure advanced with quick steps while Draco gripped his wand tightly on the woman's right side, concealed from the terrorist's view.

_No, no, don't look here, turn around! There are so many other things you could be noticing right now!_

His body tensed when the man - judging from his height and his shoulder-to-hip ratio - stopped a few meters from him.

He winced when nails dug into his arm but he didn't dare to glance at the witch in fear the terrorist ahead would attack him.

"Do you need help, boy?" He gesticulated with his wand toward the woman in labour. "Don't fret, lad, a responsible adult is here to make everything better." The sarcastic tone and mocking gesticulation infuriated him.

"_Reducto_!"

"_Protego_!" Draco acted with trained speed. The attacker frowned, displeased by his quick reflexes.

The clad man shook his head and smiled cynically. He looked right into Draco's eyes and took a tentative step forward.

Draco prepared his body to fight. He was a Slytherin, but as a Malfoy he hadn't been trained to be a coward.

"I am giving you a chance, boy, in case you haven't noticed." The sneer widened in mocking sarcasm.

The boot pressed harder on the ground as emphasis.

Draco sneered. "I do not indulge in cowardly acts."

The man paused in his steps. Draco looked from his feet back to his mouth, the only thing he could distinguish beneath the hood. He was frowning also. "Cowardly acts?"

"Secretive attacks such as this. A fight between wizards is honourable only in official duels."

Sometimes he didn't know why he wouldn't remain silent. The mouth was indeed the root of all problems.

"Oh? Another pureblood? I was about to overlook your blood status but you give me no choice now that you've publicly announced it yourself."

He didn't buy it but this time he remained silent. The steps started again.

He lifted his knee from the ground in order to crouch. The position would allow him to react quicker.

"There's no doubt. The blond hair, the arrogant attitude - you're Lucius Malfoy's son." He spat on the ground.

"The more reason for you to be cautious of your actions."

The mouth sneered in disgust.

Draco's throat was dry from the dust in the air and from the tension he was feeling. The delivering woman had ceased to scream. He could only deduct she had fainted.

"You're hiding behind daddy now? How honourable." The last word was professed with fury. "Didn't your daddy teach you that you fight with wands, not with words? That diplomatic bullshit doesn't work in the real world, _boy_."

A binding spell broke wordlessly out of the tip of the man's wand and travelled at fast speed toward him.

Draco's eyes narrowed at the choice of the spell and raised another shield, expecting the collision.

His expression quickly changed into shock as the spell changed course at the last second before impacting onto his _protego_ and hissed past his left side, behind him. He heard ropes tightening around the woman's body.

Draco couldn't grasp what he had seen... it was impossible to manipulate the direction of a spell once it had left your hand. It was just impossible, unheard of...

Sensing his confusing and disbelief, the man laughed. "Surprised? That someone is magically superior to you purebloods?" He purred.

Shaking out of his stupor, Draco lowered his shield when the woman's body was lifted off the ground to hover in the air above him. The attacker smiled wickedly.

The Slytherin feared what he found amusing.

The attacker's cackle travelled on his skin. He heard a contracting sound and observed as the magical ropes tightened around the woman's body. He cringed as they started to crush her shoulder blades.

Her brown eyes snapped open into his and he witnessed her pain through them. Her mouth opened and before she could scream, a _silencio_ was cast. "Shut up cow, you'll give me a headache."

Draco felt as helpless as when he had witnessed Avery torture the muggles in his house.

He watched as her belly was squeezed to impossible flatness of a pregnant woman.

He watched as her eyes bulged from her sockets as the pressure increased on her head.

He watched as blood started to seep from between her legs and a _head_ appeared, followed by the small shoulders; it all happened quickly after. The torso appeared and quickly the legs and feet were ejected with a sickening _pop_.

Draco had never seen a baby freshly out of the womb. It was coated in blood and secretions, the skin prune like, wrinkled and rosaceous.

He watched as the umbilical cord came out and, as if it had a life of its own, wrapped around the baby's fragile neck. Draco's stomach came up to his throat at what he knew would happen.

The baby floated in the air for a bit before the spell ended and the body dropped quickly only to be stopped by the rope that hung the newly born.

The head, too big for the body spun around the rope slowly. The neck was outstretched and the thin skin was almost ripped open.

Draco's head spun. Again... again he had watched as... as...

He vomited on the ground.

"Not your cup of tea, pureblood?" The man laughed. He flicked his wand and both bodies dropped on the ground with a sickening thud. The woman had been long dead.

'_Why, WHY? ALWAYS, always... why...' _His arms trembled and he suddenly felt just how fragile he was. How human and soft his body was. So easy to cut, to slice, to bleed, to break. Just like that, he could be dead. Why? What was he living for then? What made life's worth? He was sick of it. Of everything. Why did he have to watch all these atrocities happen? Why?

The ground was shaking beneath his fingers, or were his tears blurring his vision? His question was answered when he felt the ground tremble and the screams of pedestrians spun around his head, buildings were collapsing again, people were running again, yet...

He felt still.

Everything around him was chaotic, but he felt calm in that second. He rose slowly, unbelieving as he witnessed the panic and the torturer who wasn't moving, just staring at him.

He felt a sudden wave of calm. His expression should have portrayed the same emptiness he felt. His body felt very light.

Only for a ton to come down on his knees.

Draco gasped at the pressure on his chest; he gripped his robes, trying irrationally to ease the heavy weight inside. It was a very alien feeling. He gasped as the pressure seemed to break his ribcage open and he saw the man just stand there with a preoccupied frown.

What he found odd was the speed that he saw the man's wand arm rise. It was slow, very slow. Was he intentionally trying to prolong the drama and the terror of an impending action?

He couldn't think anymore.

He gasped and coughed once. Blood stained his lips. He moaned at the pain in his chest. It was contracting now; he felt as if his lungs were pressing against each other tightly and that his heart was now dangerously dropping into his stomach.

He cried out when he understood that the pressure was now focusing in one spot, shaping itself in a circular form. It travelled down to his stomach and situated itself behind his navel.

Draco's head spun and he was dizzy and feeling sick all over again. He groaned at the feeling of something breaking past his skin. Sometimes, people were found having the oddest thoughts in extreme situations and Draco was surprised he was part of the statistic; 'is this how death feels like?'

He screamed when it burst open his stomach and the ball exploded from him and was projected to the outside.

Coldness took over his body. His limbs were so cold he couldn't even feel them. He was afraid they weren't there anymore. His throat was burning whenever he inhaled. He felt so cold, so cold...

Cold...


	11. Second warning

**__**A/N: Hai. I agree I shouldn't have left with a cliffhanger like that, so here is the next one. Perhaps you will start to imagine how the plot will develop in later chapters? I would be interested to see how your mind worked this information.

* * *

**_"Let's look at some facts. You know, false accusations are made by people all the time for all different types of reasons."_**

_ - Joe Cheshire_

* * *

His eyelids were heavy... it was so hard to open them; he managed only a small slit of view.

His throat was so dry. He cleared it only to cough at the scratchy feeling.

Everything was so bright, too much light. He blinked but the pressure over his eyes didn't diminish.

Draco registered then that the brightness of the room was caused by the white paint on the walls. He put two and two together – white ceiling, uncomfortable bed, antiseptic odour... hospital.

He moved his arms only to find the action a major effort. He felt so heavy, as if he had an obese wizard sitting on top of him, restricting his movements.

He noted with dissatisfaction his trembling arms as he sat up.

There was only a chair on the far wall near the only door in the room. He had a nightstand on his right side and a window magically enchanted to give the impression of being near a sunny park on the left wall.

Through his grogginess he smirked at the irony of it; what was the point of showing a sick patient a beautiful inviting scenario? _'Hey, did you see what's outside? No, no, you can't go there; look and envy others who can.'_

"It's good to see you are in high spirits, Mr. Malfoy."

His smirk dropped immediately at the sight of a nurse. She reached to the end of his hospital bed and pulled out a chart to write something with a quill after a quick _tempus_.

She looked back at him with a warm smile.

"I'll go call the doctor right away so he can check on your condition." She turned to leave.

Draco voiced for her to wait but he only managed a pathetic sound that called a blush to his cheeks.

"What was that, Mr. Malfoy?"

He cleared his throat and swallowed with difficulty.

"Water." He managed in a raspy voice.

"Oh, certainly." A glass and a jug of water had been conjured on the nightstand.

He watched the nurse leave, who was also dressed in white – why so much white? Did they want to blind the patients until they had to sign their medical bill? – and he reached with deliberate slowness for the glass, afraid he would exhaust himself.

He already felt tired.

Two medi-wizards entered the room and Draco was suddenly nervous as they monitored his vital signs.

"How are you feeling, Mr. Malfoy? Any cramps, nausea, dizziness?"

"No, just a substantial amount of fatigue." He frowned.

"I have quest-" He jumped at the abrupt opening of the door and Lucius Malfoy followed by Narcissa neared him. He felt claustrophobic at having 4 people on the sides of his bed.

"How is he?" Draco hadn't missed the cold baritone of his father's voice.

"The bones and soft tissues have suffered no damage but what we feared has been confirmed."

He looked inquisitively at the medi-wizard. He had so many questions but he didn't want to speak due to the strain on his vocal cords.

"What happened? Why am I in...?" What hospital was he in exactly?

"St. Mungus, Mr. Malfoy." The doctor informed.

"You..." Lucius neared him closer. His tone was softer "... don't remember anything?"

Draco frowned at the wall in front of his bed. No... He only remembered... – his stomach twisted at the gore. Further than that, he felt as a book whose last page had been torn out.

He shook his head in denial.

"Draco..." this time it was his mother speaking. She grabbed his hand in a light grip. He welcomed the warm touch.

One medi-wizard was writing on his aluminium pad.

Draco scowled. Was he diagnosing him with amnesia?

His father threw his hair over his shoulder and gracefully sat down on a conjured chair after he had inspected the only one with a disapproving glance.

The doctor who had spoken first answered him. "You were found in Diagon Alley unconscious and were the only wizard alive between the debris. The medical team on the field brought you here."

He scrunched his eyebrows in thought. The only one to survive? That meant the terrorists had escaped? Or had they also died?

"I wasn't the only one alive; there were others, the ones who had attacked Diagon Alley. There were explosions and buildings falling everywhere, so many screaming..." He stared at the blanket over his legs, unseeing.

"We'll take it over from here."

Draco's head snapped to the new intruders. His father had risen and was holding his cane in front of him with both hands, his jaw closed tight.

Narcissa's hand gripped his with more strength yet as he glanced at her, her posture was one of calmness and nobility.

Draco didn't recognize the two men who had intruded but he identified them as Aurors judging from their official robes.

"You stated there were others with you at the location where the attack occurred?"

Draco was about to nod but he stopped himself when he noticed the accusatory stares of the Ministry officials. What was he implying? What were they suspecting him of having done?

His father stepped up. "Do you have a warrant for questioning, Mr...?" Lucius' expression was political, stoic yet accompanied by false politeness.

"Armando." The auror changed focus to his father.

"Mr. Armando" Lucius added quickly "I am certain that you, as a professional in your field, are aware of the mandatory procedure required to interview a Ministry worker and his kin, no?"

He watched and admired as his father danced with strategic words.

Armando was about to speak but his father cut him to the chase and Draco didn't feel ashamed to find it amusing.

"Then I shall overlook this..." Lucius inspected Armando from bottom to top uninterestedly "... incident that breaches the anointed clause number seven, fifth section of the Statuary Officials of the Ministry of Magic of Great Britain."

Draco raised his eyebrows in awe. Lucius hadn't faltered a step in remembering whatever law he had prophesized. He noticed the auror frowning.

"I am perfectly aware of the immunity that you, as a diplomat, and your family have, Mr. Malfoy. That's why I have taken longer to start interrogating your son. The days he has remained unconscious has given us time to officialise the necessary warrant."

Armando presented a piece of paper to Lucius who scanned over it with a displeased expression.

"I see Cornelius has given permission for this absurdity to occur. Excuse me."

Draco felt as an outsider as he watched his father pace out of the room, perhaps to contact Fudge?

"My concern lies not on formalities, Mr. Armando, but in the care of my patient. He has been in a magical comma for five days, I'm sure you would allow him at least one more day to ascertain you won't exhaust and endanger Mr. Malfoy's life?"

Draco felt thankful to the medi-wizard – he wasn't prepared to speak in long sentences and explain what he had witnessed.

The auror didn't back down though.

"And I'm sure you will understand the need to question Mr. Malfoy as soon as possible so we can clear his name and allow him to rest in peace." The auror pocketed the warrant paper.

"You'll have to excuse us, but only I and my partner are allowed inside the room while an interrogation is in progress so as to avoid the breach of the retention of personal information rights." The smile at the end was devoid of any warmth.

The medi-wizard narrowed his eyes. "Very well, but as soon as I affirm he is under stress, your interrogation will have to cease immediately."

The auror nodded and the doctors left the room unwillingly after they had cast a monitoring charm on Draco.

"Ma'am, I'm su-"

"He is a minor and has the right to a guardian's presence." Narcissa interrupted sternly. When the auror saw she wasn't going to back down, he sighed and gesticulated for his unnamed partner to close the door and set up some privacy wards.

Armando and Narcissa conjured chairs for themselves so each one would sit on opposite ends of Draco.

He felt tired yet interested at the same time. So he had been in a magical comma... It was a very serious condition that could endanger one's magical core permanently. It happened due to the depletion and exhaustion of one's magic. But he didn't recall how such could have happened to him.

His head hurt.

He massaged his temples.

"Mr. Malfoy, you were found unconscious in Diagon Alley as the sole survivor of what had transpired there. Do you recall any of the preceding?"

Draco sat up straighter, feeling uncomfortable in the unusual position he was in.

"I remember not being the only one to survive."

"Oh?" Armando leaned in further. "Will you care to develop?"

He frowned at the Auror. "The attackers, obviously, had been there terrorizing people and detonating the buildings."

"Can you describe them?"

He paused a bit. "Yes, but not in details. Their faces were hidden by hoods and their robes weren't impressionable."

The Auror raised an eyebrow at his subtle discrimination.

"So, concretely, you can't describe anyone."

Draco frowned. Well, of course he couldn't, at least not physically. "As I said, they took precautions to prevent being identified. I can say that they were vicious and enjoyed playing with people."

"Uhm-hm. Do you have any witnesses that can account to your story?"

The affront should have shown on his face. The Auror quickly added. "What you're describing sounds exactly like a Death Eater raid."

"They were no Death Eaters!" He was about to slip his tongue off but he caught himself before revealing anything he shouldn't have known.

"And... you happen to be very _sure_ of it?" Armando sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Mr. Malfoy, you just implied you personally know the organization of Death Eaters and I can only deduct from this that you have contact with them, possibly even cooperating in their organized criminal behaviour."

"Wait! Don't affirm such ridiculous conclusions!" – although they were half truths – "It is you who is implying such statements. I haven't given you any reasons to doubt my innocence!" Malfoy straightened up as dignified as he could in a hospital bed with nothing but the robe he had been changed into, as disturbing as it was, when he had been unconscious.

"I'm not purposely implying anything, Mr. Malfoy. I am simply interpreting the evidence! And what I see is the standard occurrence of a Death Eater raid."

Draco frowned. True, taken into consideration the public attack and the seemingly enjoyment in people's suffering it was a usual raid but... it hadn't been; he had witnessed that.

They had attacked him – a Death Eater's son – so that overruled they ever being related to Voldemort's supporters.

"If you keep defending your side, Mr. Malfoy, it will only further our suspicions about your involvement." The auror folded his arms over his chest.

Draco was pissed now; maybe it would have been better if he had just walked away and done nothing, like so many adult wizards had done. Just running away from the scene with his back and eyes turned away. Yet, he had stepped out of his character to help someone in need and this was the kind of treatment he was given back. No thank-you or any type of diplomacy received.

He stared straight forward at Armando.

"There are records of Lucius Malfoy possessing forbidden artefacts, all related to dark magic-"

What? Those were all allegations, although truthful ones, but they had never been proven wrong or true. Draco didn't fall for his card.

"Those accusations were nothing but the reflexion of my husband's status, Mr. Armando. I'm sure you understand that a man of his position would have enem-" Narcissa was interrupted in return.

"We do not take our job lightly, Mrs. Malfoy." Snipped the auror.

Draco traced with his eyes the firm lines on his mouth and the infuriated eyebrows. He felt insulted.

"Every case goes through a rigorous analyzing process and at the time your husband used, again his political influence to close the investigation that was no more than standard in every procedure. This, obviously, is a very suspicious behaviour of an innocent man."

"Of course, if the case had been made public his reputation would be tarnished. The exact thing the true culprits would have desired. Pardon me, but your line of work isn't known for discret-"

"Mrs. Malfoy!"

Draco suddenly felt protective toward his mother. He didn't like how this Armando fellow raised his voice. "I am trying to conduct an interview to none other than Draco Malfoy. Any other interference is not allowed; if you would like to remain here, you need to cease interrupting me."

Narcissa sat down, having risen from the chair during her heated argument.

The auror sighed. "Now, Mr. Draco. If you tell us the truth we could arrange a deal that would be favourable to both parties." He looked expectantly at him.

Draco didn't faze. "Sure, I will tell you what happened."

The auror looked pleased but it soon faded into a frown as Draco recounted about him being in a store in Diagon Alley, merely interested in scholar books, when he had heard explosions coming from the exterior. He spoke about the next events of panic, anguish, disorder and told them in detail what had occurred until the part when he had confrontation with one of the terrorists.

"The last thing I remember is trying to help an expectant lady out of underneath the debris before I collapsed. I presume I had been hit by a spell." He hoped the shorter version sounded more credible than the original one.

The aurors exchanged silent opinions on his version and Draco couldn't care less for he was depleted of his energy by the time he had finished. Whatever, he just wanted to sleep.

"If your statement is correct, we would like an explanation as to why we haven't found other witnesses to your story."

Draco stared at them as if they were muggles.

"You know it's your job to find out, right?"

Armando gave him a warning glance. "So you cannot prove your own story?"

"It's more about I don't _remember_ the rest of it. I hoped you would tell me what happened. If this is how you do your job, then I'm not surprised at how Sirius Black's case was handled."

The blow to their prides could be seen on their faces. He smirked at them.

Now he was definitely going to collapse in his bed. Too much to think, argue and listen.

"You're not placing yourself in a favourable spotlight, Mr. Malfoy. It is suspicious how you were the only one found and your story would be convincing only if more people were found alive. You want to hear our side of the story?" Armando stepped closer to Draco. "Considering the damage and-..." Draco didn't bother hearing the rest. He was tired. Very tired. "-connecting your magical signature-..." And now he was getting annoyed. Couldn't he just shut up and... and... ah, too tired "-there's a connection: you."

Narcissa jumped to his feet and until then he had been half listening, half sleeping. "What is your objective here? My son is tired. This interview has been stalling long enough. Now if you excus-"

"We're going to prosecute your son on organized criminal behaviour and the murder of 37 people."

His alertness jumped in anger at the affront of being wrongly accused. For once, he was innocent. His mother's reaction was tenfold his. Her eyebrows rose in indignation and the corner of her mouth turned downwards.

"On what proof is this based?!"

"... We'll expect you in court. Have a good day, Mr. Malfoy," he gave a mock bow "Mrs. Malfoy" he slightly inclined his head.

After they had left, his mother didn't even look directly at him, preferring the fascinating white tiles of the floor. "It's alright, Draco, they can't have any proof, they were bluffing without a doubt."

He didn't know if she was trying to assure him or convince herself. "Of course not, I spoke the truth."

That was when Narcissa glanced at him and he could read sadness and feel the dubiety in her eyes. She didn't believe him.

His mother didn't believe him.

He felt hurt, yet again. But, surprisingly, he wasn't surprised. Not after he had seen her behaviour near Voldemort.

He winced.

His body was sore. And so was his heart.

He sighed. "Leave me to rest."

Narcissa left the room, although she felt a bit ashamed of doubting her one and only son, she couldn't explain the incident to herself.

* * *

He had been released from the Hospital after another 2 days of rest leaving behind a pair of astonished medi-wizards at his recovery speed. Although he had left earlier than other patients would have, he had been given warnings specifying the strict usage of his magical abilities. That implied no above 2nd year spells and no attempt at wandless magic.

And yet, he had been told to use his wands in snippets every day.

So that's why he was found levitating some type of rocks in Divination, one day late into the start of a new semester. He was growing highly suspicious the stones were in fact Trelawney's pet rocks from the deranged way she was looking and mumbling at them.

"Now, this is very important for your future" oh Merlin, she sounded serious "so you may see if you've been born with a gift of the vision. It will be life changing." Draco rolled his eyes. Dear Lord, how could this woman spew so much bollocks? A sane person would get tired. "I know it was for me."

"_Merlin_." He whispered under his breath in the hopes of invoking the wizard's almighty power to vanquish the old loony.

Crabbe and Goyle - who were together in the back desk - kept trying to lure him in to answer their questions since they had heard about his hospitalization. He had shushed them multiple times, preferring not to remember himself that he was going to be prosecuted. The Malfoy family was going to be prosecuted for the first time.

He gave a long sigh, as if all burdens could poof out like vapour.

"Now, grab your wisdom stones! Come on, everyone! Don't be afraid, else your emotions will conflict the reading, BUT-" Draco snickered when he heard someone's stones drop in surprise. "You must not drop them before you have begun the reading or you will die a _terrible death_!" The high pitch was startling.

"I'm sorry dear, it seems you have been cursed for the next seven years. You see, the time is related to the number of stones you have."

A female gasp was heard in the background. _Dear Lord... _

"Now, class, let's start the reading."

Draco's eyes bulged for a moment at Trelawney's hand gesture. What the hell-

Trelawney was shaking the stones in her hand in quick rapid strokes, indeed, _strokes_, as in **strokes -** while being completely serious. "Come, all together now."

The Ravenclaws were hesitant for the first time to participate in a class and he was glad that the Slytherins preferred to keep their dignity intact.

"Hm?" Her expression was transmitting curiosity but her eyes were confused, as usual. That was until a stone slipped between her fingers and behind her bottle glasses her gaze grew from serious to panic in a matter of nanoseconds.

She fiddled with the rest of the stones and set them aside on her desk with shaking hands, meanwhile half of the rest falling out. She smiled nervously to her students. "Well, let's set that aside..."

'_Oh, finally! Cutting off divinations for the first time.' _

"... and start on tea leaves reading."

"That's from last semester!" He couldn't take it; he had to put a stop to this terrible excuse of a teacher. Other Slytherins nodded agreeing with him and the Ravenclaws were silently protesting against wasting time when something new could be learned.

"W-well..." Trelawney straightened her glasses while she was looking nervously around the classroom to avoid her students' gazes "surprise examination!"

If Slytherins had been Gryffindors they would have groaned and moaned but the greens opted for more... composed self-expressions such as the girls examining their manicure and boys quirking an aristocratic eyebrow.

* * *

He saw Potter and the Weasel heading to Divinations with the Hufflepuffs and he couldn't help but give a knowing smirk to Weasley stating '_I didn't forget'_. It worked; the red head looked terrified, his mouth gaping and his uninteresting face reddened.

Potter looked confused for a moment, just before he remembered to hate him. Draco wanted to glared back at him and he was about to send a snide remark to permanently scar him – a new add to the one he already had – when he recalled that he had to _befriend_ Potter. This order given directly by the Dark Lord. Voldemort. _Voldemort._

The man sent a chill down to his spine. He had to obey him, he _had _to. There were no other choices. Well, there were. Torture - if ponies would grow wings and fly over a monochromatic rainbow - or death, which awaited him if he refused his direct order.

So, instead of following his tendencies, he actually _ignored_ Potter. He didn't want to set him off with sex right on the first date, so he abstained from smiling. _'Be in character' _he repeated to himself when Potter raised an inquisitive brow to him.

Well, it was off to a start. At least he didn't get the childish 'whatever, _ferret_' which he admitted he had expected the most.

When he neared the two of the Golden trio, Potter was whispering like a schoolgirl to Weasel. Oddly enough, Draco noticed he was discreetly rubbing his forehead where he knew the scar was.

Draco knew from Lucius that the Gryffindor had a sort of connection with Voldemort that caused him pain. Could it be he was seeing something right now? He was curious, yet Draco didn't envy him at all. Potter was some sort of obsession to the Dark Lord; he was the same age as Draco was and yet he managed to escape multiple times with minor injuries from Voldemort's persistent attacks.

And he was the only one to survive the death curse.

He silently admitted to himself, for the first time, that he had some sort of admiration for Potter.

When he went past him he perked his ear to their hushed conversation since it seemed to concern him, if the furtive glances from the red head weren't proof enough. His eyes widened when he heard Potter whispering 'muggles, torture, Malfoy'.

His head swam in that moment and Crabbe and Goyle neared his side, worried about why he had stopped in the middle of the stairs down the tower.

Out of the corner of his eyes he noticed Potter stopping in his track. He turned his head to Draco and he mimicked the blonde's expression. The Slytherin wasn't supposed to hear it.

Nervously, Draco had started to sweat and he locked eyes with the Gryffindor, afraid to confirm his suspicions.

_He knew_. He knew about that night, about Malfoy Manor, Voldemort, Avery and the muggle family. And he knew about him not doing anything to stop it.

But how did he? His eyes snapped to the scar on his forehead. _The connection_. Could it be that it was so deep he was able to witness Voldemort's memories, perhaps even the current happenings?

Just how deep were Voldemort and Potter connected?

Could Voldemort see what Potter was seeing? No. If he could, then he would have known where he was and what he was doing and he wouldn't need someone to lure Potter to a secluded place. He could just have waited for the opportunity of Potter being away from Hogwarts and kidnap him.

"... Malfoy..." He was snapped from his train of thoughts by a pair of green eyes staring at him worriedly. And something akin to... pity?

His first reaction was anger. No, wait. This could turn to his favour. This could be the start of their 'friendship'. So he did the unusual. He replied to Potter's question.

"Potter? What do you want?"

Harry went on the defensive. Ah, damn, he could have toned down his voice. "Never mind." And like that, the Gryffindor turned and walked away.

Well, he would have other opportunities...

"Hey, Malfoy!"

That was Blaise heading toward him. Actually, _running_ toward him. Draco was looking oddly at the situation, asking himself why Zabini was angry and then he realised that it was he whom he was mad at.

It was as if his mind decided to cooperate in his favour. He saw the fist flying at his face in slow motion and he had enough time to be – confused, offended, furious – quickly evasive. He stepped out of the way and enjoyed thoroughly as the fellow Slytherin lost his footing and scrambled to regain his balance.

"Don't you think we're a little past third grade, Zabini? Confessing to me through these methods isn't exactly attractive."

Some of his housemates stopped and engaged into listening and understanding the strange unfolding scene.

"Very funny,_ Draco_." Zabini stared at him with such contempt he couldn't avoid holding back his anger at the sudden attack and start being curious about his motives. "I knew you were a rotten fellow, but to this point? You're despicable doing that to her after knowing how she feels about you."

Draco rolled his eyes. By _her_, he could only mean Pansy since Zabini didn't care enough about other females to the point of daring to touch him. Or try to. "I thought she was with you? Can't keep a leash on your _bitch_, Blaise?"

He knew he was just trying to rile Blaise up enough to attack him again. He wanted to be attacked. His wand was at hand and his spell was ready. This one was going to **hurt**. If he acted in self defence with all the Slytherins witnessing it, he would avoid any type of unlawful punishment from the teachers while Blaise would be shafted.

"You're the worst kind, you know that? After getting her pregnant you dump her and deny it?"

Draco's eyebrows shot up. "Pardon? Since when did I get her pregnant? Is that the lie she is telling you now?"

Zabini smirked. "Not only me. To everyone. Every Slytherin knows it by now and I would find it strange if at least half of the other houses didn't."

_What?_ That... whore of a woman had the audacity to spread lies and slander his family's name? Lucius would give him the belt for this.

"Where is she?" He asked stoically. His demeanour changed instantly to the point of making Blaise falter in his anger.

The Slytherins' whispers were growing like flies and the buzzing of exchanged impressions was getting on his nerves. _Damn that Zabini!_ Why of all places did he have to choose the tower leading to Divination? Even Crabbe and Goyle who were usually quiet had started to speak between themselves.

"_Silence_." He whispered harshly behind him. They both stopped, along with some housemates in ear vicinity.

Even Blaise looked intimidated; the roles had reversed. Draco was now in power, he had control over the situation. "So."

He took a step forward, wand twirling in his hand. His eyebrows were raised in careless arrogance and his intimidating gaze was focused on Blaise. "Where" he took a step forward "is" his polished shoes made soft impact on the hard stone "she?" He paused one step away from Blaise, feeling the exciting rush of dominance over the other male. With each step he had taken forward, Blaise would give one backwards.

He smirked.

He enjoyed this. Everyone's eyes were on the two of them, except this time the one having the victim spotlight wasn't him.

Blaise's adam's apple moved up. Draco's eyes narrowed in satisfaction at the sign of fear. The Malfoy heir was 2 inches higher but he knew it wasn't his height he found intimidating. It was his _magic_ that had been oozing out of him.

How interesting it was that wizards measured each other's magical strength byits _feel_. It was a type of unspoken coercion.

He made sure to memorize this type of threat method for future utility.

"S-she didn't come to school today..."

"Ah!" he quickly interrupted "So she hides in order to avoid her lies being discovered. Typical. And you fell for the oldest trick on a woman's book, Blaise? Honestly, you do not deserve to be in Slytherin; there's absolutely no trace of intelligence in you."

Out of the corner of his eyes he could see with a not so small amount of pleasure the smirks of his housemates. They enjoyed humiliation when they weren't the victim; they were always on the victor's side. So just like that, he had assured their short term respect.

How easy.

"Alas, I am not one to hold grudges over a... _girl_" the mock in his voice was palpable "so I'll be lenient this time." And now a simple drop of compassion. After all, leaders and politicians had to amount some charisma in order to be followed.

"I forgive you." Being humble yet keeping the mouse in his claws was his speciality.

This was one of the fruits he had ripened with during his upbringing. Perhaps Blaise wasn't as sharp as him or his education hadn't included artful speech.

"..." The Slytherin looked at loss for words. He knew he was waging an internal war between believing him and believing Pansy.

He closed his eyes and exhaled. Just thinking _her_ name made him want to strangle baby unicorns.

Blaise rose to his own ground. "And why would Pansy lie?"

Draco raised an eyebrow. _Wasn't it obvious?_ "You know why, Zabini. I'll refrain from publicly announcing it out of consideration for you."

The Malfoy heir noticed his housemate had understood, realisation seeping into his eyes. _She wanted his attention_.

She always had. Even Blaise had noticed it when they had been both together; Pansy's eyes had always travelled in search for him.

Resignation travelled through his whole expression but Draco didn't feel any remorse or pity for him. He had enough time to see what a terrible character she had. The brunette exchanged a look with him. '_I guess I'll have to accept it' _was the message he received.

The excitement wore off after Zabini had bowed his head and silently apologized to him. His housemates had dispersed, some muttering their own commentaries and others frowning in displeasure at the termination of the drama.

Draco brushed off his robes and walked away, followed by his two lackeys. He had to find Parkinson. She was in for a big surprise. If she had deemed it acceptable to tarnish his reputation with petty little lies, she had to deal with the consequences of her foul play.

He smirked as he concocted the perfect plan.

Strangely, he wondered if Severus also had this feeling when he created the perfect potion.

"-foy... Malfoy!"

The feminine voice made him turn around. Ah, it was the overweight Slytherin girl that had spoken to him about Umbridge's Inquisitive-whatever-crap-it-was.

She half ran, half walked and when she reached him she panted 'Umbridge' and 'summoned' in different sentences.


	12. Threats are not to fall onto deaf ears

A/N: I have written 80% of the story on paper, now I am onto transcripting it onto Word in order to see how my ideas and writting are - sort of proof writing along the way. So if you notice any errors, please indicate them. After this chapter, things are going fast paced (finally) and we will see how Voldemort and Draco will get the opportunity to have more contact. Please, enjoy. If you feel any part of the plot is odd or doesn't match your expectations, comment on them and I will gladly review those parts.

* * *

_**"Those that are the loudest in their threats are the weakest in their actions"**_

_**- **Charles Caleb  
_

* * *

**U**mbridge had summoned him. Draco sighed. It was the day he had started to attend classes and already she wanted to see him. "She told me to give you this."

It was a small piece of sealed parchment. He opened it and read «frilly frogs» before it incinerated. One thing Dumbledore and Umbridge had in common was their ridiculous choice of passwords. Couldn't they choose a sequence of numbers and letters...?

He even felt ashamed to whisper the two words at the statue. He could swear he had seen its mouth smirk.

Walking up the spiral staircase, Draco thought about the most obvious reason for his summon – the Inquisitorial Squad. The old bat wanted an answer since the time was due. He knocked on the door and pulled a smile on his handsome features before he followed the screechy 'come in!'.

"Ah yes, Mr. Malfoy!" When she rose from her chair – actually, _Dumbledore's_ chair – he captured the intention of that gesture. His family's name was important enough for her to pay him respect; _of course_, Draco thought as he was offered a seat and politely declined the offer of tea, _she wants political backup_. And she would need it if she wanted to keep her seat for a longer period. What better way to do so than having the support of a prestige Ministry worker like his father?

Unlucky for her, he didn't plan on passing any good words about her to anyone.

"So, Mr. Malfoy."

She talked as she poured red tea into a lavender cup. "I suppose you've heard about my proposition?"

He leaned back in his chair without ever losing elegance. "Indeed I have, _Headmistress_" his voice turned into syrup, knowing how much she enjoyed it. Almost as sweet as her tea with 4 – and still counting – sugars.

He tried to ignore the rhythmic sloshing of the cubes falling into the tea "… and I couldn't be more grateful for even considering me." Coat it here, deliver it there, flatter again and that was how politics were played. He was going to play a game he had about 4 years of experience with.

He wasn't new or naïve to this.

"Oh, Mr. Malfoy! As if it could **ever** happen to exist a student more suited for this position. Now-" she sipped her tea in a dainty manner – which made Draco inwardly cringe – "I am aware of your abilities and how all your classmates respect and admire you, so I couldn't find anyone more sufficient for taking control of the Inquisitorial Squad."

Hm, full power? Sure, why not?

"Of course, your studies are your priority so this will be an after school activity that will certainly boost house points. After all, if some houses fall back and others steadily rise, the gap will increase rapidly. Do you see my point?"

So he was free to remove points from other houses as he pleased. This would work in his advantage of befriending Potter. If he showed leniency to Gryffindor, he would fall on his good graces. _Perfect_.

"I do, Headmistress. I am more than obliged for this opportunity and I shall carry my duties honorably." He smirked. Oh, the irony. Lately he had been thinking of how to befriend Potter, how to approach him without rejection and yet here it was – the perfect opportunity. He knew about the Gryffindor's nocturnal tendencies. It was inevitable to meet with him.

"Perfect! I will be asking you to report strictly to me about any suspicious activities or rule breaking. Now, I shall not be taking more time from you, Mr. Malfoy. You may start tonight after dinner until midnight."

He rose and bowed with a flourish. "It will be my pleasure."

And indeed it would.

Of course, for different reasons than Umbridge's.

* * *

Draco's mood after dinner had become foul; double Potions and History of Magic were partially responsible – History more so – yet the true perpetuator was Pansy's rumor which was giving him a headache. The whispers on the corridors were finding a way to infiltrate the wall of his patience and the sneaky glances which they thought he wasn't aware of burned the back of his neck during classes.

He was now in the common room as he had wanted to gather the group that had to patrol with him tonight. Although he was not easily affected by gossip, his pride couldn't leave these _worms_ alone to snicker and bond at his cost when he was just three steps away from their tight niche.

"Do you think it's true?"

"All men are the same…"

Draco rolled his eyes at the cliché.

"Knowing Pansy, I am not sure really…"

"But it's Malfoy we're talking about!"

He stopped in his tracks, the abrupt movement drawing attention to his presence. Some of the Slytherins he recognized as belonging to lower years and others he had classes with. He sighed when he felt eyes on him - half were shocked at seeing the topic of their gossip in flesh and bone and quite a few were ashamed. One or two were indifferent.

He purposely made eye contact with the Slytherins near him. They were all sitting in the couches around the fireplace, the start of January offering only cold.

He straightened his back in a more authoritarian poise and raised one eyebrow.

"Please, do not stop on my account." A flash of shame lighted all their eyes.

"Rumors are quite entertaining… and also a waste of time which could be spent on something **productive**. You see," He ventured two steps forward and he relished when they scooted over on their seats. "rumors are by definition unfounded, distorted and improper in polite society. Yet, you wouldn't know about that for you attend these little… _gatherings_ as old wives do."

He smirked at the discontent they emitted. "Bravo" he clapped mockingly "you are behaving exactly like the instigator of these lies wanted. Who, interestingly, has not graced us with her presence all day." He tapped his chin lightly in fake thought. "Such mysterious behavior can only be noted as self incriminatory, don't you agree?" He spoke calmly for he was in control of the situation at hand. As a Malfoy, he didn't have to worry about being heard or interrupted… undivided attention was always a given from the other lower classes.

"Maybe she was too afraid of you bullying her!" Draco fixed his stare on the impertinent fourth year female. He quickly evaluated her as a feminist speaking in defense of another of her species; Pansy didn't have any friends from her side.

He maintained his stare on her until she had lost the indignant red on her face and her valiant legs buckled under, forcing her to sit back down in her place.

No one had come in her support.

"Shut up, _Emmeline Pankhurst_, how dare you talk back to your senior! We're Slytherins, not Griffyndors! Parkinson has been nothing but a spoiled girl. She could have slept with anyone and now she wants pity from all of us."

Draco watched the event unfold; it was like a play without the main actor present. He secretly remembered the muggle theatrical _thankfully there's moonlight _from Sttau Monteiro.

He was aware the older male had spoken in his defense so as to fall onto his good grace. Like all the others, he desired the Malfoy reputation and wealth to benefit him in the future. The seventh year waited for recognition and Draco gave it with a small nod in his direction.

"That's quite right. Malfoy was just chosen to be the head of the Inquisitorial Squad, surely you don't need more proof of his innocence if even the professors pay no heed to such biased rumors." He silently approved of this fifth year female. The majority was accepting the information well and some even voiced their apologies to him, others nodded as a more reserved gesture.

"It is a relief to see that intellect is still present in our dorms."

A blond girl who was sitting on the edge of the couch blushed and ducked her head. He recognized her from her unusual stares at the Great Hall he often pretended he wasn't aware of. Their chatter had resumed after he had left their suffocating gathering but this time the object of their conversation was Pansy.

* * *

Draco had taken the usuals – Crabbe, Goyle and Zabini. He glanced at the tan boy beside him. He was subdued and he discovered a bit of reluctance? He sensed guilt.

"Hey, Malfoy… About today-"

He interrupted quickly. "Forget about today."

Zabini was caught off guard. "So…" after an uncomfortable interval "… no hard feelings?" Draco shrugged off the other Slytherin.

"Sure, Blaise." His released sigh annoyed him slightly.

Crabbe was commenting to Goyle on the unfairness of having two periods of Potions followed by History right afterwards. Draco silently agreed while Goyle impersonated Snape insulting one of their own Housemates when he had been compared to Longbottom. They were walking on the halls outside their Common Room where few to none portraits could be seen, their _Lumos_ lighting the way through the admittedly eerie dungeons. Draco would never be able to decrypt the reason of the sinister magic engulfing these walls.

He stopped near the Potions' classroom and turned to the three of them. "We're wasting time this way. Splitting will decrease it to a fourth. Crabbe, Goyle" they perked up at his firm tone "you two will be scouting from the 4th floor up to the Towers. Blaise, you'll be taking 2nd and 3rd and I will take the rest below. Make sure no one goes unpunished and keep your eyes open for suspicious activities from the Gryffindors. Umbridge thinks she has motives to make us patrol every night."

Draco reflected on Goyle's and Crabbe's expressions. "Stop thinking and be on your feet!" He understood their reluctance of leaving him by himself after they had found out about his hospitalization but he couldn't afford having anyone by his side if he was to try to fall on Potter's good graces.

Voldemort's command had not fallen on deaf ears.

* * *

He waited until he couldn't see or hear their steps anymore before he took the path toward Snape's Office. He hadn't noticed it before when he was in the company of the other three but the air was strongly muffling him, the scarce torches on the walls engulfed him in oppressive darkness and _lumos_ felt like a child's play at magic. The cold - strangely persistent – was finding a way past his uniform to settle on his skin.

He stared oddly at the office's door. His skin was prickling. As he neared it, the muffling sensation increased and he felt slightly suffocated. The very dim light under the door had attracted him, noticed thankfully to the poor illumination in the dungeons.

At this late hour, activity was an odd event. Even if he knew his godfather was a night owl since the most powerful potions were brewed under the moon, it was a week day and he knew of Severus' habits being limited to the weekends. Perhaps it did not reach the Gryffindors' biased opinions but Severus Snape regarded his Potions classes highly.

He leaned his head at the door to sneak at his godfather's activities. There was no sound at all. No footsteps, no clinking of jars and tubes, no boiling water in cauldrons.

It was then that all clicked.

Severus had cast an _Imperturbable_ on his office door. That certainly made him suspicious; what did he want to hide?

Draco jumped at the sound of the door's knob being twisted and he quickly ran down the corridor leading to the Slytherin dormitories. He promptly rounded the closest corner just in time to avoid detection by none other than-

_Potter? What is a Gryffindor doing in the Slytherin's house head's office at this time? Potter and Severus calmly inhabiting the same room is as likely as butterbeer mixing with wolfsbane._

He was glad Potter didn't wave or bid goodnight to Snape; that behaviour would be too abnormal for him to continue believing the earth was round. He narrowed his eyes when his target slipped a cloak over himself – _the invisibility cloak!_ – and disappeared just like... yea.

He mentally berated Potter for not understanding the most basic limitations of an invisibility cloak. Sound wasn't included in the disguise. He could hear his footsteps easily enough to follow him up to the Entrance Hall.

Draco firmly believed he would be lead to the Gryffindor's dormitories if he followed Potter long enough, but he couldn't discard the slightest of possibilities. He was led out of the dungeons to the Entrance Hall.

His eyes narrowed sharply. The footsteps had stopped abruptly. Why? Did Potter remember to cast a silencing charm? Yet, why now? He couldn't have heard him, he had used _silencio_ on himself near Snape's office. He had been paying close attention to any slight sound coming from the invisible form and he hadn't heard any charms being muttered or-

There was a small rustle of something, as if a parchment had scraped a fabric. His ears strained to capture any other sounds. He doubted Potter would just stop in the middle of the stairs to write or read.

That was until he heard the Gryffindor whisper the oddest sentence followed by a sharp intake of breath. _I swear I'm up to no good? Just how accurate are the Daily Prophet's accusations of your insanity, Potter?_

Draco froze to the familiar sensation of his skin crawling, a certain indicator of eyes being on him.

That was when he heard an extremely quiet _silencio_ being cast.

And after that he could hear no more Potter.

Somehow, in that small spawn of time his presence had been noticed even though he made no sound and he stayed out of sight by taking swift covers behind pillars and corners. How should he act? Should he run away and yell after the Gryffindor? No, he didn't want to give Potter away to Filch, it would be a stone in their already grainy relationship.

Yet he needed to make contact with Potter and somehow portray to him a likeable Draco. He cringed at the idea.

Deciding not to waste time, he quickly ran to the spot he knew Potter had stopped at and tried to feel the air for a body. "Potter..." He quickly said. It was not often he got opportunities like this where both of them would be alone; that Weasel seemed to follow him around all day. And they weren't exactly in better terms either.

He licked his dry lips. "I'm not going to deduct any points from your House if that's what you're concerned about." He gave a few more steps forward and his hands kept grabbing nothing more than air. "I'm not going to turn you in to any professor either. I just..." What did he want? What could he want from Potter that wouldn't arouse suspicion? His eyes widened a fraction "... want to know what you meant early in the morning today when you were in the Divination tower with Wease- Weasley." He quickly corrected himself.

He hoped that would have struck a chord but he wasn't expecting to be trusted straight out of the bludger. He tensely waited for any sign that he had been heard, his hand gripping the banister of the staircase a bit too tightly and perspiration slowly forming on his forehead.

He released a heavy irritated sigh when he was sure he had waited more than enough. He probably had fallen on deaf ears. Or none at all. Alas, he decided to retur-

He swayed abruptly as the stairs started moving on their own accord. _Really? Now's the time you pick?_ Seems luck wasn't on his side tonight and neither was the castle. He was being taken higher than he expected. The noise of the moving stone should have woken up Norris, Filch's cat.

Draco staggered at the dry stop and frowned at the staircase as if it had a conscience to understand his displeasure. He turned around to go back to the Ground Floor when he saw the lower part of it wasn't attached to the previous steps anymore. There was a significant gap between his return and the... 2nd floor he had been taken to. At least he thought it was the 2nd floor.

Continuously frowning, he followed the stairs' will and decided he might as well see if Zabini had seen any doors opening by themselves or torches flickering oddly.

As he passed unfamiliar corridors, the hair on the back of his head raised. His eyes were wide open, his brows furrowed and his heart suffered several back leaps. He was _sure_ he had heard someone, or something.

* * *

He was tired. It was past the normal bedtime for a student and his frustration earlier with Potter hadn't helped.

A deep gargled rumble stopped his breathing.

His legs felt twice their usually weight and his ears could capture the sound of a needle dropping several floors up. He tried to quiet down his increasingly loud breathing as he was more aware of it.

He jumped when someone sniffed loud enough for Draco to hear them and for the first time he wished Zabini was pulling a prank on him.

He slowly turned around, not wanting to disturb what type of creature could inhabit the floor he was on, and noticed, with reluctance, that the horrifying sound originated past the door to his left.

He jumped suddenly at the high pitched scream that tore through his stomach, making him feel as if a hand grabbed and clenched it. He ran toward the source, slammed open the ladies' bathroom without any hesitation, his wand ready.

"What is going on here?"

Draco didn't have to look twice to grasp the situation. A Hufflepuff was lying on the floor, sobbing with short pauses for ragged breathing, her clothes were tattered – robe found on the floor next to her. He had recognised the crest out of the corner of his vision.

He averted his gaze from the girl's underwear to stare at the three other female occupants in the middle of the stalls' row. A sneer appeared on his features at the vulgar display his housemates were responsible for.

"What is the meaning of this?" The question was pointless, but his tone was intimidating; his countenance already spoke volumes. This was the typical set of bullying.

He waited for an answer; the first to speak would be the leader.

"We're maintaining the proper order in Hogwarts, of course."

Draco stared at her uninterestedly, not giving her any type of acknowledgment. She was less significant than a static photograph in a wizard's house. He could see the small shift in her pose and the gradual loss of firmness in her stare as he continuously stared at her.

He grabbed the moment of vulnerability and took confident steps forward.

The lackeys behind her scurried out of his way and the Hufflepuff girl brought one hand in defence.

"No, please..." Of course she would see him siding with the other Slytherins; housemates got each others' back usually.

Draco tossed his robe onto her body, giving the frightened girl an ounce of dignity back. He heard a gasp followed by a whispered comment he chose to ignore, originated from behind him.

"Go. You can give the robe to a house elf or throw it in the fire, it doesn't matter." The Hufflepuff looked at him slightly confused for a moment and then scurried to his feet out of the bathroom.

He turned to face the three Slytherins who were still stupidly standing and gaping at him. "You clearly aren't of bright minds, are you? What type of game do you think you're playing after curfew?" He twirled his wand as evidence of complete dominance he had over the scene.

"Well?" He hated repeating himself and he made sure it could be shown.

"That was a Hufflepuff you defended!" It had been the leader again. His eyebrow rose.

"Care to elaborate the problem?" He sighed. He wasn't patient.

"She was a half-blood! She doesn't deserve to attend Hogwarts! Not where Salazar Slytherin walked!"

Ah, a Salazar fanatic. How very «thought independent».

"I thought we were in the twentieth century. Over two thousand years of evolution and you're still stuck in the past. I can already imagine how progressive your future will be."

"They are called _traditions_, Malfoy. You know, those ideologies which held our society together for so long?"

A simple glare was all it took for the other Slytherin to be quiet. Her underlings spoke for her.

"She was the one who started it and called it upon herself! She said purebloods, like you, were an abomination to magical society! Imagine! This coming from a half-blood!"

She would have made a good point to an uncritical mind. But, Draco couldn't blame the Hufflepuff; purebloods had always discriminated against anyone different. The scene he had walked upon had hit him hard; it reminded him too much of what had happened to the muggle family at the Manor. He swallowed.

"So you fight insults with violence?" Fighting for peace was like screwing for virginity.*

"It wasn't only insults. She was making threats! And we defended you by defending the purebloods! That whore won't blink before she forgets about you helping her if she knows you are a pureblood. How dare a second year talk back to her seniors?!"

The other two nodded vigorously at the leader's heated speech.

He raised his chin and drew back his shoulders. "Anything related to me is _**my**_ business. Anything related to improper misconduct will be solemnly **reported** to me. You do _not_ take matters into your own hands when there's someone with higher authority than you."

They frowned and pouted. _Oh, soon they would frown even more..._

"Twenty-five points from each of you." They gaped as if he wasn't aware he was removing points from his house too, consequently. "That's what happens when you think you are entitled to do as you see fit. Now you can go back to your dorms and feel proud about yourselves."

"You will regret helping that snotty girl, Malfoy, and I won't even have to do anything."

His stare was stoic. That vague threat was too amateur for him to ever consider thinking about it.

* * *

"Do you know what happened at the Quidditch match yesterday?" Blaise usually kept a proper posture whenever he was in public amongst strangers; he had impeccable table manners and he would rarely be caught speaking with a mouthful. Except when the topic excited him.

"The one between Gryffindor and Ravenclaw?" At his table partner's nod he continued. "Yeah, mate! It was mind blogging just thinking about it! The Ravenclaw's captain had a bludger bat up his arse, couldn't take the loss so he lost it with his team."

Draco couldn't help but overhear their conversation occurring just two plates down from his spot.

"Do you know what he did? I've heard different stories but I'm not going to believe female gossip." The opposing _'Hey!' _didn't faze them to apologize in the least.

"Well..." Blaise leaned in when his classmate started whispering. Draco copied him unconsciously. "I heard that he started cursing them and threatening to disband the group and select new members.

"Pfft! He can't do that on his own!" Blaise replied.

"No, but the Ravenclaws are extremely proud of their abilities, so guess what? They made a plea to the teachers for the captain to resign!"

Draco sighed. Was this all wizards his age thought about? They were more interested in Quidditch than in their own future. There were O.W.L.S. to think about. Those would determine their success in their next two years at Hogwarts which would directly affect their careers, their family, their housing, the overall style of living. Yet, it was more interesting to speak about what one did and didn't, how they did it and when they had done it.

Draco sighed for the second time. How come the world was so backwards? How come he had been like them?

The flapping of wings caught his attention. The mail had arrived. Between the eager birds there were two that stood out to his eyes – the pure white of Potter's and his majestic eagle owl carrying a small envelope – which meant his father had sent it. There were no boxes of pastries which his mother insisted on sending.

The cold high quality parchment was freed from the owl's leg and he read it.

_Dear son, _

_I am anxious to hear of your progress on your recent goals. The wish for results is immediate. Your future is closing in faster than foreseen. Time is of the essence. _

_Farewell, _

_Your father. _

"News from home?! Goyle leaned in too late to peek at the letter contents which Draco had hidden.

"Yes, and they're private." Goyle shrugged and continued his breakfast.

So, Lucius had sent him orders from Voldemort. He was to show progress immediately. He glanced discreetly at the Gryffindor table and when he saw Granger rise from the table, he grabbed his chance. He knew the muggle born would be in the library for the Gryffindor's free period. He rose up abruptly, ignored Crabbe and Goyle's "_wait up!"_ and increased his pace toward the Library. He was aware of the trio's routine; Potter and Weasley would join her soon. What better way to win this game if not on their own grounds?

And he had a good excuse to skip History of Magic.

* * *

The Library was empty as it was usual at that time of the day. Madam Pince wasn't seen at her usual seat, opting instead to take care of the inventory of books. Draco walked down to the aisle he saw Hermione handling several Arithmancy and Runes of Magic tomes.

She was so absorbed in her memorization that she didn't notice as Draco loitered around and searched for whatever book he could pretend to read. He opted for a Potion's textbook in favour of all others. Might as well pretend with credibility. He picked _Advanced Brewing_ by Emil Lott and sat two tables away from the Gryffindor female.

He spent five minutes staring into dead space with his book opened until some words caught his genuine interest and he became immersed in Pepper-up potions and its alternatives. The author seemed to slightly criticize the over complicated method of brewing and he had explained the uselessness of some ingredients and steps which were traditionally used. Draco's eyebrows rose with interest at the information not even Snape had corrected in class. Well, being a teacher was not having full control of the materials taught to the Houses.

Emil Lott had gone through the extent of showing the «correct» way to brew the potion. Draco turned the page, curious to see what changes this wizard had deemed essential.

"-loody hell, does he have to be everywhere?"

"... Now, Ron, this is a public Library."

"Ron is right though. There's something different about Malfoy, lately. I don't know... he seems less..."

"Uptight? Asshole?"

"Ron! Language!"

"What? It's true! He is an asshole!"

"Shh!"

Draco smirked behind his book at their conversation. He didn't remember ever having friend like they had each other. Everyone had just formed a group around him either due to interest in his family name or their parents being Death Eaters like his. He probably had slightly envied Potter in the past. He must have been quite lost in his own mind for he was suddenly woken up from his musing by Potter's voice.

"Look, I know that you don't like me, believe me, the feeling is mutual, but we have some questions to ask."

At the _we_, he looked behind Potter to see Granger and Weasley listening intently on them. Perfect. Potter had approached him. The first step was out of the way. He remembered his father's letter – 'progress' had been made.

"What's in it for me?" He shouldn't appear too eager to befriend him else he'd risk looking suspicious. He raised an eyebrow at Potter's fidgeting.

"Well..." The Gryffindor had turned to his two friends with the hope of aid but he only received a shrug in return. Draco sighed. "I'll make it easy for you, Potter. Today I woke up on the right side of the bed." He rose from his table to join theirs.

The three of them sat whispering between each other while Draco had to pretend he couldn't hear them one chair away. After what seemed like a debate between three cobras, Potter turned to him.

"We know what happened to you, Malfoy." He raised an eyebrow at the vague statement. Was he referring to Pansy? Well, it wasn't new information and more than half of Hogwarts knew it too.

Hermione's voice was quiet and gentle. "The muggle family you tried to help... Thank you."

His chest froze.

What were they speaking about? He clenched his hands together. How could Potter truly know what had happened that night? He knew that he and Voldemort had a connection, but how deep and what type?

He hid his fists under the table when he noticed Granger frowning at them. She quickly added. "We're not here to judge or condemn you, Malfoy."

"Then what for?" He snapped, guilt of his helplessness evident in his abrupt retort.

"How much do you know?" He added less accusingly.

"Not much, just saw a part where the family was tortured and you intervened and in return your father..." Potter became quiet. From Hermione's face he gathered they had been informed too. Draco looked away and sighed.

"So, you know something about me which you shouldn't..." He noticed their guilty faces and grasped at something; whatever Potter had seen, he really hadn't seen the wholeness of it else their reaction would have been different. They weren't aware he was part of the Death Eaters.

"Isn't it only fair I should know something about you too? The world of Magic is based on equivalent trade, that's what allows us to perform a spell after all. Even you, Weasley, are aware of that." There was a solemn nod.

"I'm not even asking from all of you; just one of you three. Quite fair, no? You, Potter" he turned to the bespectacled Gryffindor "you mentioned you _saw_ that happen. You gave me this information. What do you mean by that? Are you some kind of a Seer?"

Draco truly hoped not; else he could predict his intentions of getting close to him and his mission would be over.

Hermione snorted. "Divinations isn't scientific or coherent in any way. It's easily explained by logical reasons. For example, Harry had a dream but it wasn't a vision, it was a connection to he-who-must-not-be-named like Dumbledore beli-" Hermione gasped and brought a hand to her mouth when she realised she had spoken too much. Draco smirked knowingly.

" 'Mione! What's the matter with you?!"

"It was supposed to be kept a secret, Hermione!"

She looked at them slightly confused. "I'm sorry, I don't know what took over me, I-" She immediately became quiet and turned quickly to Draco and neck breaking speed.

"You! You used something on me! I'm sure of it!"

Draco knew exactly what had happened. Dark spells took advantage of the target's emotions – like the anger and contempt Granger felt for Divination – and could be manipulated easily into the spell's will. Draco slowly pocketed his wand under the table, discreetly hiding his hands.

"An eye for an eye is not unjust."

"And honestly, Granger, did you hear me profess any incantation?" Draco moved an eyebrow in fake offense.

"No, but-"

"Surely, you're aware every spell needs one?" He manipulated his features into astonishment. "You're not implying a fifth year old student would be able to perform such advanced magic, are you?" His expression turned quickly into false hurt. "I don't understand why you would call me to taunt me about something no one would want to revive from their memories and then to be accused..." He pulled the most pitiful look he could while still maintaining some shred of dignity. He saw out of the corner of his eyes the trio shift guiltily in their seats. _'Almost'_.

"Do you... do you want a bribe? If it's money I have to talk to my-"

"no!"

"NO!"

Granger and Potter both yelled in unison. Madam Pince shushed them from somewhere between the selves, out of sight.

"Bloody hell, I never imagined a day would come when I feel like I'm bullying Malfoy!" Ron was stabbed on his side by Hermione's elbow.

"Ron!"

Draco smirked behind his hand which he immediately dropped after noticing Potter's stare.

"Look, Malfoy, we didn't mean anything like that. It's just that..." She exchanged telepathic glances with her two friends "... we've never thought about you in the way Harry saw you." Draco's eyebrow rose.

"So, Potter actually _saw_ this happen? Did you dream it?" He abruptly turned to Harry.

"Y-yea... I did."

"Wow..." Draco was genuinely impressed. So he had been spot on about his suspicions. "Does this happen often? Can you control it?" Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ron frown.

"Mate, you don't have to tell him."

Potter stared at Draco without breaking eye contact. "You're right. But, oddly, I feel like I should." Harry took a breath. Draco understood it must have been difficult to gain this small amount of trust. "No, it doesn't happen often because I can't control it."

There was something he wasn't grasping at. "You dream of it, but it's not complete, you cannot control it and you cannot initiate it... Why does it happen?"

He took notice of Ron's paling complexion, Hermione's lip biting and Harry's downcast expression. He almost risked another truth binding spell but he stopped himself, else their alertness would be his downfall.

"We cannot tell you, Malfoy. Even if we see you in a slightly different light now, you're still the same Malfoy you've always been."

He almost winced at the drawback of their slight improvement but he took advantage to steal the reins. "I understand some prejudice will remain, yet I hope we will come to see past our Houses and differences. I feel like a stranger to myself also." He dramatically sighed and propped his chin on his hand, appearing contemplative.

Hermione looked a bit guilty.

"Err... I suppose I'll see you around?" Ron turned awkwardly toward Harry. "Bloody hell, how weird is it saying that?"

"I know." Potter agreed. "You done, Hermione?"

"Yes, I suppose I am." She caught the drift of her two friends. And so did Draco.

"Later." He acknowledged them with a slight tilt of his chin and pretended to go back to where his book was and started reading again. Behind the tome, his eyes had followed the trio until they were out of sight. This was a good way to get close to Potter; get close to Hermione by frequenting the same places she did; even if she had the best scores of her year, finite knowledge and was a rational witch, she was still a female. Women would always feel attracted to some mystery, danger and good appearance – three attributes which he had. Attraction to him shouldn't even be considered a challenge; it was his second nature.

* * *

"Why does it always have to be us?" Crabbe moaned.

"Fine, you don't want to abide to your duties then don't do it. But, I will not stand here and hear you whine about it." Draco sighed. "I'll go on patrol without you two."

Goyle's tone was incredulous. "But, I didn't say anything!"

"You don't have to for me to know you're agreeing with your boyfriend." They both made a face. "As I said, someone has to be the adult here, so I will go for the two of you."

Draco shook his head at his housemates' childish behaviour and went out of his bedroom only to come face-to-face with the least expected – yet still not least hated – person at that hour: Pansy.

She looked normal, but Draco could pinpoint some nervousness behind her eyes. So she had known that her plan hadn't worked. Her gossip could never measure to his influence on their house.

"Parkinson." He nodded as a greeting. He had grown to be able to set problems aside and be courteous to people he disliked... in public. A half filled common room held their breath, not knowing what to expect.

"Malfoy." Her half smile could be spotted by a blind man on the other side of the room.

Some people weren't as able as him.

"I hope you are feeling well, Parkinson. You've taken a long leave from the beginning of the semester, so I could not fathom any other reason than sickness, could I be wrong?" He almost smirked at her expression.

"Yes... I was ill. And it seems I have caused quite the misunderstanding. I mentioned to one of my friends who came to visit me and apparently she communicated it in a way which was incorrectly interpreted by others."

It didn't pass Draco that she was speaking in a volume rather loud for a dialogue; she wanted to make sure everyone would hear her. "So you can imagine my embarrassment when I arrived today and heard about it."

The wench's audacity! Her creativity was to be admired, Draco had to admit. It had been one of the reasons he had taken her to his bed.

Since her initial plan to force him into a socially pressured marriage hadn't worked, Parkinson was going for the _"unaware" _card and _"misunderstanding"_ excuse. Sure, he could play her game; he had more creativity in store than she could think about.

"I see. How terrible for this to happen, and unusual too. I suppose communication problems are ranger _**in**_convenient. The people we are surrounded by should be able to communicate on the same level as we do, do you not agree?" A lion did not lay with a lamb. A king didn't debate with a peasant. Whom we are surrounded by defines us.

"Yes, but it was just a misunderstanding..."

"Which could have brought serious injuries to both of us, no?" His eyebrow rose at her. He could see on her expression she felt the heavy pressure he was putting on her.

"Yes, so I apologise immensely for the problems it might have caused..." Her tone was strained, as if she was holding back anger and the apology had been hard to force out.

The common room had gradually grown quiet until it became completely silent.

Draco wasn't intimidated. He knew how to play his cards in order to avoid falling on her trap of appearing cold hearted and antagonized if he didn't accept her '_apology_' and exaggerate a «small misunderstanding».

"We carry heavy responsibilities towards our names. That's what distinguishes our noble House from the rest. Even a first year is aware of this basic notion." He saw some Slytherins nod and others exchanging hushed approvals. "When we break someone else's precious china vase, even if by accident, it doesn't matter if we tripped or someone pushed us. The vase is broken and it cannot be glued back or replaced by words. What can be done, however, is to play in another area, else we will risk doing the same mistake." Draco felt a sense of superiority he wasn't ashamed to admit.

"What are you implying, exactly?"

He took satisfaction in her shifting stance. "If you're truly apologetic, you would take any necessary measures to ensure it cannot happen again, does it sound unfair?" He wasn't patient for long periods of time; he started to full slight annoyance at Pansy's slow interpretation abilities. Even some of the audience had grasped his point.

"No, it doesn't."

"Good!" He quickly interrupted. "So we agree that you should avoid your friend's company in order to prevent more misunderstandings from her; since she is not... fit to socialize with you, it can be seen as an opening for new acquaintances with whom you are able to enjoy conversation without the fear that you won't be understood. It is a rather positive change, do you not agree?"

Parkinson's expression had gradually become sore through his speech. She was biting her lower lip which he knew was a sign of distress. He had her trapped – and she should have expected it – in a way that she could only agree with him or become selfish and discourteous in the eyes of half of their House.

He almost smirked. If she thought this was his worst, she was mistaken. Terribly so.

"I see your point. I will take the necessary precautions, then." She seemed eager to leave the focus of attention.

"Perfect. Then we should start with knowing the name responsible for this whole unnecessary embarrassment?" She couldn't refuse. She wouldn't risk looking bad in front of others for the sake of one girl. That was how females from his house were. She hesitated, though.

"Margaret Langer."

"Truly not a family name compatible with yours. I am glad we have sorted this gossip. Langer should have an ounce of dignity not to bother you anymore by association, if she had any respect for you."

He tilted his head as a farewell. Upper class socializing exhausted him; the mind games and metaphorical dialogues were his forte but he had to use much effort to analyze what his opponent meant, to predict their intentions and to beat them to their moves. This was another part of his life Lucius had insisted upon for him to master. He was to follow into his footsteps, everything already planned for him – working at the Ministry, serving under Voldemort at the same time, marry someone who would be pre-selected by his parents – like Pansy – and produce an heir to whom he should teach and mould into the same.

* * *

Draco was currently patrolling the seventh floor by himself. Tonight it had been him, Zabini and two more upperclassmen. He had to serve Voldemort, like his father did. Bending the neck to someone he was... terrified of? No, not exactly. He wasn't afraid; well, perhaps slightly, but that wasn't what he felt most strongly. It was... disgust. He abhorred the man's deformed appearance – it truly increased the fear tenfold – and terrifying personality. He didn't hate him as much as he hated his followers – if the man didn't have anyone behind him, he wouldn't be capable of the deeds he afforded at the present. After all, he would be just one wizard, although a powerful one. A king needed peasants to rule over.

* * *

"Avery, what the hell do you think you're doing?" The harshly whispered question made the accused man jump.

"Take it down a notch, will ya?" He glared at Nott. Avery turned back to what he was doing. "Ain't no harm for the Malfoy. He most likely has thousands more of these."

Nott sniffed in frustration. Stealing antique trinkets from their host was immoral. He shrugged and joined Avery in the search of a counter spell to the locking charms.

Good thing he was a death Eater then.

"Back away from the case. Both of you."

Avery and Nott almost dropped their wands.

"_Geesh_, Lestrange, you almost made me jump out of my robes. I thought Malfoy had caught us!" Nott nudged Avery in sheepish manner and they smirked at each other.

"Unfortunately, no, I'm not Lucius. I'm his in-law which makes it only _slightly_ better for you." Lestrange kept a serious tone and then gestured with his wand. "Go now. I don't want to catch you being the rats you are again. I doubt your snitch-sized brains could even decode the locking on anything here. Lucius is three steps ahead of any of us."

"Yea, _'course_.We know who you're with when you wake up in the morning, no need to go public about that." Avery and Nott burst out laughing while Lestrange kept a stoic expression.

"Indeed. It's called a wife, you know, something you'll never have? Someone needs to be able to stand the sight of you first."

The Death Eaters grew silent immediately. There was a tense moment between the three. Their wands were drawn but not aimed.

Lestrange was being glared by Nott and Avery at the same time. His stern face started to betray a slight lift of the corner of his mouth. Avery sported a small smirk while Nott maintained his posture. The silence was deafening.

They could hear the snow falling outside.

And then they laughed. The three of them exploded in long kept laughter, tears already forming at the corner of their eyes, Lestrange grabbing his sides in pain.

A smooth baritone voice cut through their amusement.

"What's the meaning of this?"

Lestrange stopped laughing in a split of a second and regained his usual serious posture in even less time.

"Nothing important, Lucius, we were just-"

"Just?" A dark aristocratic eyebrow rose in inquisition. "Why is it that three fully fledged Death Eaters are sitting and rotting on a spot when there is work to be done?"

"It was just a small-" Lestrange was silenced by the cane tapping on his shoulder.

"I recall our Lord ordered you to gather intelligence on the Dursleys, no? Then what are you still standing here for?" Lucius tapped his cane twice on Lestrange's arm and watched the man go while grumbling about orders and vacation.

He then turned to Avery and Nott who had wisely remained quiet so far. "So? What are you waiting about? The Dark Lord can always use more followers. Go recruit to make yourselves useful." Lucius' hair and cloak swished after him as he turned abruptly his back to them and walked away.

As if he had suddenly recalled something, he paused in mid step and without turning he said "if I ever catch you with your hands on something that you're not supposed to touch, I will see to it personally that you won't be able to use them anymore." At their continued silence, Lucius resumed walking away.


	13. I've warned you

A/N: Hey folks! How are you fairing with jobs? I hope everyone is alright and didn't have to be submitted to poverty by the few greedy.

There will be mild torture ahead, but nothing horrible.

* * *

_**"You can chain me, you can torture me, you can even destroy this body, but you will never imprison my mind"**  
_

_- Mahatma Gandhi_

* * *

_**M**assster_, something troubles you." The giant snake slithered on the carpet to his owner. A pale cold hand automatically caressed her scales.

"What makes you think so, my pet?"

Nagini purred at the affection. Her tongue flickered out to try the air around her master. "I can _tassste_ it in the air around you."

The hand petting her paused. She nudged it slightly in displeasure. "Your instincts never cease to impress me, Nagini." The snake hissed in delight at the rare appraisal. "You're not entirely correct in your assessment, yet I'm intrigued; what exactly you feel changed in my magical aura?"  
Voldemort's hand supported his chin while the other had reached to the mahogany table on the left of the chair to retrieve his wand which he now twirled between his long fingers.

Nagini flicked her tongue and stared at her Master. "It seems... heavier." The snake appeared contemplative.

"What else, pet?" Voldemort's voice was slightly above a whisper but it filed the dark room, having only a fireplace warming the back of his chair. Nagini slithered around his feet to settle facing the warm fire.

"It feels _intenssse_ and it's hard to stay near _massster_ sometimes." Nagini curled upon herself.

Voldemort's brows rose. "You mean I feel more powerful?"

"You've always been powerful, _master_, now it tastes unbalanced."

Voldemort's wand stopped twirling between his fingers. "Interesting."

The wand was set back on the table near a small collection of parchments and family tree maps. "Very interesting."

On them, it read in fine print:

_Draco Malfoy_

* * *

Draco walked down the long corridor of the 7th floor for the second time that night. He passed the troll in the ballerina tutu with distaste. What exactly was the point of having it at Hogwarts? It made no sense whatsoever; or maybe that was the point.

A door opened abruptly somewhere, its squeaky hinges making him jump and round the corner instinctively. Draco peeked out, heart racing. Blood hell, why was he hiding? Flitch wasn't on this floor and Peeves didn't venture this far up in the castle. Draco frowned to himself. He had the authority to patrol. If anything, it wasn't him who had to hide from anyone. Wiat... was that **Potter** coming out a cleaning closet?

Draco grinned. '_Potter coming out of the closet?'_

His smile dropped when he saw the Gryffindor holding the door and numerous other recognisable faces started pouring out. There was Neville Longbottom, Ronald Weasley, Cho Chang, Granger, some other insignificant Gryffindors and a few from other houses but none from Slytherin.

Draco's eyes narrowed. Potter was getting some pats on the back, some thankful glances and a few whispered compliments as the group ushered to exit quickly.

There were about twenty of them... almost an entire class! What was going on here? He refrained from making a grand entrance and demand answers. Instead, he kept quiet, wordlessly conjuring a blanket of silence around his person and followed the trio with a camouflage spell. As they dropped the floors, he concluded they were going to their Common Rooms. So, whatever had occurred behind that odd door had been the end, not the start of something. And it certainly wasn't a closet anymore; there was no way twenty-something people could fit in there.

He was going to follow Potter on the next nights; it meant double shifts but he could handle it. For now, he would remain silent and keep this information from Lucius and... Voldemort. Although, he doubted the Dark Lord couldn't pry information from him if he so much as desired it.

* * *

"Come along, now. All those who still haven't delivered their authorizations must give them now. Those who already have, enjoy your Sunday! You can follow Professor McGonagall to the meeting point." Professor Sprout seemed rather jolly that day. Not the same mood of Draco on a cold winter morning.

"So, where are we going, Draco? The Three Broomsticks? The Hedgehog?" Goyle always wanted to fill his belly with butterbeer at the slightest of chances.

"How about we do something different this trip? Oh, I know! Let's go to London!" Crabbe clapped his hands excitedly. Draco faltered in his step.

"What for?" He already had a slight suspicion.

"To tease some muggles, of course! Maybe we can pick up some galls, eh?" Goyle seemed to like the idea. Draco didn't.

"If you want to use your wand and your crotch on the same day, you are being quite redundant." Crabbe frowned while Goyle laughed and punched his buddy on the arm. Draco smirked. "You girls can do whatever you like – cleaning your nails, brushing your hair, anything you do just leave me out of it. It's already enough having to look at you everyday." And just like that, he walked away.

* * *

He entered _Cobb & Webb's_ and headed straight for the counter where an olive skinned, greasy haired woman stared at him warily. Lucius had often brought him here and Draco had always enjoyed the way his father haggled; clearly, the owner did not.

"What can I do for you, boy?"

Draco uninterestedly inspected the gadgets on display. There was a watch with its hands made like claws of a hippogriff, black in colour. The hours weren't written, no numbers to aid the person.

He went straight to the point. He dropped a small bag with galleons on the counter. The owner's eyes widened a fraction.

"Tell me, you're someone who prides himself in his business, no?"

The owner looked half offended. "Of course, what kind of question is that?"

Draco's hand dropped quickly on the sachet of money and kept it away from the greedy hands. The shop owner frowned.

"So, it would not be farfetched for you to keep a record on every costumer you've had?" Draco's eyes wondered behind the counter, searching.

"And why would you be interested in that? That information is confidential."

Draco stared and the unattractive woman straight into her eyes. He sighed and dropped another bag of coins. "It can be confidential to me." He lowered his voice when the door bell chimed the arrival of a new costumer. He did not recognize the witch who had entered.

Draco turned to stare impatiently at the shop owner, signalling the expiration to his deal. The woman coughed and didn't hesitate when taking the bags quickly away from the costumer view. "I suppose the term confidentiality is open to interpretation."

"Here" he was handed a thick and rugged tome "take this to the back." The owner signalled with her head.

Eagerly, Draco took the costumer records and rushed behind a musty grey curtain – which he suspected had originally been white – and sat at the only table in the centre of all the clutter. He suspected this was some sort of storage room, judging by the frog filled jars, the trinkets which resembled portkeys and torture devices which made him cringe. '_Maybe I should offer one to Voldemort so it's easier for him to torture Nott when he fails a mission_'.

He frowned at the dusty chair but nevertheless sat on it. He opened the tome with patience; it was fragile and about to get torn at the smallest slip of hand. Gladly, the inventory of the purchase was alphabetically organized. Draco jumped to the letter _P_.

'_Parkinson, Parkins- Aha!_' The records pre-dated to her grandfather but what he was interested in was two pages ahead – the father. His brows furrowed in concentration. He hoped what he was looking for existed. '_Some portkeys, some books, a lot of snake's eggs... a few dragon scales...' _Their purchase had all been reasonable in society, nothing too dark or dangero- '_THERE_.'

On the spring of 1986, six years after he was born, Parkinson had acquired the _ring of Alexis_, previously thought of having been destroyed in a fire. It was a banned artefact for it submitted the wearer to compulsive destruction and madness. Alexis had been a house wife in the 1800's and had killed all of her family - the husband and four children in their sleep bed -and set her own house on fire where she closed herself in and died. Many recounted the story and at the end added that her maniacal laughs had been heard by the neighbours before they had spotted the fire.

If the head of the Parkinson family would be caught with it, then he was certain to lose his reputation. Without his reputation, his career would follow after. _'Perfect._' Draco looked around and removed the wand from his robe. Flicking his wrist, the pages danced back and forward. The flying pages indicated his copy had been made. He grabbed them as they fluttered in the air before they reached the floor.

He muttered a spell under his breath and watched as the copies folded in half and when an envelope materialized out of thin air, they automatically stepped into it, disappearing along with the envelope to its intended destination. If he wanted a dramatic, sensationalist story then Rita Skeeter was the right woman.

He grinned when he imagined the outcome; Pansy got what she deserved. Whoever had said revenge left a bitter taste had quite the dulled senses.

* * *

He rushed through the crowds of shoppers; he had loitered around Knockturn Alley's shops more than he had intended and now he was late to the head count at the meeting point. It was five past four in the afternoon and he was already half an hour delayed.

'_I'm not going to make it._' Draco was going to cause a stir among the teachers; he was probably the only one missing – although he hoped not since he was not keen on attracting unwanted attention. They would ask questions about his whereabouts and he had to come up with more excuses.

He had hoped he would be able to find details on horcruxes, yet alas; the topic seemed a taboo even in the darkest of shops. Or very few had been privy to any information.

The last snow of January was giving in to his rushed steps, boots leaving imprints on the thin white blanket to join the others. As Draco walked south of Diagon Alley, he was glad for the shortened number of people going about their day. In less than an hour it would be tea time; leave it to the magical community to uphold traditions.

'_How can they expect to evolve if they look back to the past?_' Draco shook his head. He rounded a corner when suddenly a gloved hand grabbed his arm harshly and pulled him into an alley between buildings.

"What the-!" A second hand covered his mouth. His reaction was instant. He trashed and fought as much as he could against the strong grip which had now managed to catch his wrists, holding them together behind his back.

His curses and yells were muffled by the leather glove so he tried to kick behind him but he was overpowered and thrown face in the alley's wall. His wrists were jerked upwards and his own arms bent at an extremely painful angle. "_Mmmff!_" His eyes shut involuntarily, trying to block the pain. It all had happened so quickly Draco doubted it lasted more than one minute. Why was this happening? Was he getting mugged? He had his wallet with him but-

A hand patted him down and Draco thought he had been right until the hand, which could only belong to a man by the sheer force of the grip, skipped the pocket with the wallet and went to pat his left side. His wand was snatched in an instant and his eyes watered from the cruel angle his arms were being forced into.

Draco jumped at the voice much too near his right ear.

"Stop struggling and don't attempt anything funny, kid. I won't hesitate to cut a finger or two."

Draco became immobile. He tried to identify the voice but he couldn't pinpoint it to anyone familiar or whom he had met. His wrists were lowered and he didn't remember ever feeling more relieved. He jerked, hitting his forehead on the concrete when something foreign and cold touched his restrained hand.

"Now hold still."

The familiar sensation made his gut churn as he felt the telltale sign of a hook pulling behind his navel – portkey.

'_No... no..._' He could only feel sick at the teleportation and the knowledge he was being taken somewhere he had no clue. He was so powerless.

He fell in a heap on a wooden floor. He was on all fours, too absorbed not to vomit from the magical travel and from his anxiety.

"That position is suitable for your kind, Malfoy. You are a quick learner for a pureblood."

Now, he somehow recognized that voice but it was still too unfamiliar for a name and a face...

A pearl of laughter rang around a small group. Draco estimated there were more than five. '_Keep calm, you were trained for this._' Being a Malfoy heir had definitely imposed risks. He was mad he hadn't kept his guard up.

He lifted his head slowly, dizziness overtaking him. Yes, he had guessed correctly; five in the front staring him down, two on the sides near the walls and one he could feel the presence of behind him. The last one was sitting on a wooden chair and Draco pinpointed him as the head of the group from the way he carried himself. Out of the corner of his eye he had, at the same time, identified the spacious room with wooden walls as some sort of recreational cabin – perhaps in the mountains somewhere judging by the cold draft from between the wooden planks.

During his instantaneous scan he had noticed there were no windows, only a small orange light bulb illuminating the middle of the division, making him feel even more the centre of attention.

Draco's quick eyes had also seen there was no furniture except for a round coffee table which had some newspapers and a chair.

'_Wait a minute..._' He discreetly ventured a glance to the wizard in front of him who had his good lowered to which he immediately understood he wasn't expected to live. His insides turned into knots as he immediately recognized the stranger who had pulled and killed the unborn child out of a pregnant woman he had tried to help during the raid in Diagon Alley.

He would never forget the twisted smile which was evident at the presen-

His head flew to the side at neck breaking speed as he was kicked by the same man.

"Now, now, Vrudel, be gentle with the boy. He's only a pureblood after all." Unanimous laughter rang through Draco's skull. "He was raised with a silver spoon and _manners_. We want his conscious... for now." The voice seemed to originate from the leader.

Draco's nose gushed out blood. He cradled it gently and was glad he felt no broken bones. His head spun so he braced himself on the floor with one hand as he remained on his knees.

"If you attempt to look at our level again, I'll make sure to break it. You're to gaze at the floor like the dirt you are."

Draco Sniffled in an attempt to unclog his nose from blood. He didn't know what was wrong with him; why did he have to talk back?

"You understand that once all of the teachers in Hogwarts realise I am missing they will search everywhere? Suddenly your plan doesn't sound as smart as before, hm?"

There was a tense moment of silence and Draco feared the blow to the head might have made him deaf.

He was violently dragged by his hair halfway through the room. Draco yelped in pain and kicked underneath him, trying to get leverage to stand or even _crawl._ His scalp felt as if it was being torn from his skull and it burned so much to the point of almost making him cry. But the few malevolent laughs spinning around him made him stubborn to admit the pain.

"You think you're smart? That you're superior? Let's see you talk when you have no tongue."

Draco was thrown upwards onto a chair and noticed how pathetically light he was. He struggled in his seat when he felt the handcuffs biting into his skin but he stopped when his head was pulled bak harshly by the nape of his blond hair. He couldn't hold back the wince.

"It seems you're not a quick learner after all." The man's wand was pointed closely to his face and his violent expression truly made Draco fear for his tongue.

"Calm down, Vrudel, how is the boy supposed to speak then? Are you going to answer in his stead?"

Vrudel exhaled slowly and gave Draco a last glare before releasing his scalp and backing away from him. Draco was trying to keep calm like he was taught. He had also been programmed not to show weakness to the captors yet he hadn't undergone pain tolerance training since his mother had voiced her protest against such _barbaric practices on someone so young_.

But now as he saw the coffee table on his left with the newspapers and the surgical box, he wished he had. He didn't know who these people were except that one of their members had a strong aversion to purebloods and that they could go to a massive extent from the destruction they had caused in Diagon Alley.

The leader stepped in front of him and studied his slumped figure. Draco immediately straightened his back and studied the man back without restraint. He didn't flinch when out of the corner of his eye he saw Vrudel fume and advance toward him furious. But the leader held a hand in the air to stop him without even having to turn back.

The leader had brown wavy hair, hazel eyes, olive skin and on the short size – a complete opposite of him. His robes were everyday wear.

Draco's stare might have appeared cocky because the room stirred uncomfortably at his arrogant display, some men changing demeanour to a more aggressive stance in defence of their leader.

He noticed the irritated frown on Vrudel whereas the man in front of him wore a disconcerting smile. Draco had also found out that there were only men in the room – no underage or females – which he found curious, but not very unusual. Throughout history, organized groups in power had mostly been led and formed by males exclusively.

It seemed this group responded to the same man, similar to Death eaters only in this aspect. Even though he wanted to know their reason for abducting him and what drove them to obtain 'world domination' – since that was what he suspected, the cliché of all -, he didn't ask. He would look compliant, otherwise.

Draco secretly tested the strength of his handcuffs and was disappointed to find out they were quite impossible to remove or slip them off as they were tight to the point of digging into his skin and cutting circulation to his hands. The more he twisted his wrists, the more bruises he would get.

"Where is the boy's wand, Albert?"

'Albert? Not a usual pureblood name.' So this group was a mixture. The man who had abducted him appeared from the shadows on the walls created by the ill lighted room. Draco's heart skipped a beat when he saw his hawthorn and unicorn hair core and 10 inch wand in the hands of another.

"Very interesting core for a pureblood, and for a Malfoy as well, do you not agree Vrudel?"

Draco was stared on by the leader. Vrudel grunted in response. "So how is it that this small object is responsible for the many deaths of our comrades? Hm?"

The leader circled his chair and Draco had to focus on a spot on the floor so he wouldn't automatically follow him with his eyes. The leader was out of sight which meant he was behind Draco. His skin prickled in anticipation with the knowledge.

Draco wasn't sure he knew what the leader was talking about. Since when had his wand been responsible for the deaths of others? He didn't rem- oh... The magical outburst which had knocked him cold for days.

"Don't want to answer? Or pretending you don't know what I am talking about? Well... we can revive your memory."

The air flew out of his lungs and the floor got closer very quickly. He braced himself for the impact. A grunt escaped his as his chair had been kicked from behind.

He saw the world turned to the side; his chair landed on the left. He could see Vrudel's smug face and some white flashed from the corner of the room, indicating shadowed grins.

"The ground is rather fitting for a Malfoy heir." Draco ignored the laughter around him. Was that the best they could do? He suppressed to urge to roll his eyes.

He was startled when he was lifted along with the chair to his previous position.

"Not answer, Mr. Malfoy?" The leader stepped into view. He was twirling his hand, a gesture Draco had learned indicated he was going to make a show out of it with the aid of some spells. "It is very bad manners not to answer to your elders, you should have been taught that by two or three of your private tutors, no? Lucius wouldn't bat an eyelash to spoil his only son with privileges paid by the lessers."

Draco raised an eyebrow at the man. Their money had never been provided by others; Lucius had never deviated public funds. The Malfoy fortune was the product of generations of hard work and good financing. Who was the bigoted one now?

The mocking smile dropped immediately from the leader's face. He whipped his wand and Draco's head turned to the side from the slap.

Well, that was... humiliating. He returned to uninterestedly stare back at his captor and sighed, as if it had been the most childish act he had to witness patiently.

"Why were you the only one alive between all of the corpses you left behind?"

Draco smirked. He felt the desire to avenge the dead comrades exuding from the leader.

"I suppose I'm special." Draco's smirk grew wider. He knew it irritated the leader.

"Let me wipe that smirk off the brat's face, Malik."

The leader raised his hand. "Not yet, Vrudel."

He turned to him. "You give me no other choice, Mr. Malfoy. I am against harming underage wizards but you've forced my hand."

In a fraction, Draco's eyes widened at the sudden attack and mentally braced himself for the oncoming cruccio.

Instead, his skin tore off his arms and legs, leaving superficial, yet very painful bleeding gashes. The warmth trailing down his limbs told him blood tricked down freely. He had bit the inside of his lips to prevent any whimper from escaping.

He opened his eyes before he realized he had closed them.

"Do you refuse to answer because you don't know or because you don't want to?"

Some wizards started to grow impatient with the chit-chat but respected their leader too much to say anything.

The leader sighed and waved his wand in a pattern he couldn't recognize. This time, he bit his lip so hard it bled and he couldn't repress the small pathetic whine that escaped out more awkwardly than it had been.

The spell had acted on the same exact wounds, opening them wider and deepening them further. The blood flow intensified. The pain from the first attack had been mild but the second one had been bordering to extreme.

"The pain intensified exponentially, Mr. Malfoy. It means it doubles every time. I would prefer to keep it at this level and I'm sure you would too. So cooperate with me and I will set you free."

Draco didn't budge and didn't buy in the promises. The leader looked stoic, void of any compassion.

He didn't know what his magical outburst had been about but he felt it was important and should be kept private until he understood more.

"Vrudel here reported it had been a magical reaction of some kind which originated from your person but you see, Mr. Malfoy, such a thing on that scale is not possible from someone as young as you so I know it had to be something else which you're not telling and was responsible for the loss of over twenty of my men!" The leader's voice hadn't raised but instead lowered into a harsh whisper. "I suspect it was a new type of weapon created by your allies and you were ordered to test it."

Draco knew what his silence would bring next but his stubbornness didn't let him budge. It was only a few seconds of p-

"_Nnngggh!_" He bit back a scream as for the third time his gashes were deepened past the muscle to the bone now, the pain surpassing his tolerance level.

"**Aaaahh**!" His voice cracked as the spell was casted once more without a break for him to recover. Some tears welled up in his eyes but refused to spill.

This torture wasn't near Voldemort's _legillimens_ attack yet nevertheless, he wouldn't be able to withstand a fifth deeper attack without passing out.

"Any desire to speak yet?"

Draco sickly noted the slight excitement in the room. _'Just like Death Eaters._'

"Pardon?"

He froze. There was no way he had said that aloud. Merlin forbid it!

"Already a full member of the Death Eaters from this age? Tsk tsk, I didn't think He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named would be so desperate that he started recruiting children!"

Well, he hadn't been initiated... yet. But how could he have slipped off like that? Damn it!

"We aren't like Death Eaters. We're quite the opposite. You see, we are Singuigal, we believe in equality of blood. We don't differentiate between half-bloods or muggle-borns."

"Yet you discriminate against purebloods. Quite hypocritical, no?" Draco interrupted him.

"Purebloods discriminate against everyone who isn't them. They are the oppressors in society, the root of all problems in the Ministry. **We** discriminate against the oppressor. How is that hypocritical? You shouldn't speak about what you cannot understand, child-"

"The purebloods have also preserved traditions and culture in the magical community which **you** keep trying to breach by going public to the muggles, bringing war and death to every witch and wizard- _**AArghh**_!"

His body was on fire, every fall and raise of his chest brought an enormous amount of pain to his body, the spell going through bone as if sawing half of it with new gashes opening over his chest and legs, rapidly deepening.

His screams tore through his throat and he begged to himself for it to stop over and over again, to black out, but his mind didn't obey him.


	14. There is always a second chance

A/N: some mild torture ahead! And Draco loses something very important to him.

* * *

_**"The limit of every pain is an even greater pain"**_

_- Emile M. Cioran  
_

* * *

**_N_**ot going to answer, Malfoy?"

Draco kept his gaze on the wall ahead, unblinking. He pretended he didn't see the tray with the very sharp and pointy torture devices which had been used a couple of times on him already.

Malik had stopped circling him and he admitted to himself he felt a slight relief; every time the man disappeared behind him, the back of Draco's neck would prickle and the fine hairs would stand. He almost jumped out of the chair when breath ghosted the side of his cheek.

"I am not fond of torturing _children_, just as much as I'm not fond of repeating myself. But..." the voice disappeared from his left, this time being louder and directed to the whole room. "Being a Death eater has stripped you of your most forgiving qualities. You are no longer a child, Malfoy. You've proven it to us by killing my men and as such, you will be treated as a fully fledged wizard."

"Funny you mention that..." the previous chatter died in the room and his voice suddenly sounded too loud for his ears. "Some would consider kidnapping and restraining as crimes too. But that doesn't really count, does it? Since it's part of the _greater good_, your goals."

"That is where you're wrong, Malfoy." The leader stepped in front of him, his eyes shining with pride and gesticulating as he spoke in a grandiose voice. "Our goal is not for the _greater good_ but for the benefit of the majority... and the minority, which is you and your bigoted self-centred kind. You see, we strive for equality and peace between us wizards, be muggle-born, half-blood or even pureblood. Yet, purebloods do not appreciate the homological blend of the non-magical and the magical folk. They do not have the capacity to foresee the greatness of the junction of the two worlds; imagine what could happen when muggles, who have always managed to survive and create interesting things with their own hands, fuse with our ability to go beyond manual labour. The things we could create, the ideas that we could build...! But alas, your kind has permanently denied this fusion. You are the only obstacle between us and a new Era, a new World Order. So you must be eliminated."

"You will eliminate all of us, including yourselves. What you are trying to achieve has already been done and a different Era was born; it was called the Dark Ages, haven't you read history? What do you think will happen when you tell a muggle something he cannot possibly comprehend? Humans fear the unknown and they respond with violence and confusion. You think this time will be different? That you will be received with open arms? It's nothing but a catastrophic future for the Wizarding community!" Draco glared at the stoic man.

He knew his words hadn't reached him. That unnerving gaze reminded him of Dumbledore's condescending smile, treating him as someone who had no idea or notion about the current world he was living in. Dumbledore had the same vision as this man. No wonder Voldemort had made him his number one enemy.

The leader sighed. "Regrettably, you don't have the capacity to envision what we all already have. You and your pureblood kind are in many ways less evolved than we are. You breed between family, desperately clinging to the same pattern of genes, ideals, behaviour and education. The greatness of a species is based on its ability to adapt and in order to have the most chances to do so, gene diversity is needed. We, muggleborns and half-bloods are the most genetically diverse of all wizards. Your blood purity is your downfall, Malfoy. Your capacity to grasp new concepts is extremely limited, as you've shown and proven again to all of us."

Agreeing murmurs followed his speech.

"You see, it is futile for me to explain things to you because you won't understand."

"And yet ironically you base your beliefs in genetics only, forgetting about the role of environment in character development." He tried to test the bindings but they were magical, much harder to break. Especially without a wand...

"You continue to prove me right. Now, enough of the chit-chat." The older man grabbed a tool form the tray and Draco admitted he was quite terrified of the pain that that was about to come when the pliers were chosen.

With each step forward, his heart pounded harder in his ribcage.

"We've started slowly, Malfoy. Now we will play like adults. I warn you that resistance is futile, as always, for we will use Veritaserum on you at the end so you would do well to speak the truth now before you get hurt too much."

Even through his panicked state, Draco could call on his bluff – if they had Veritaserum that would have been the first thing to be used. Not many wizards were able to create a potent potion or have access to it. Snape was one of the few and he doubted they had managed to recruit a Potion master as good as his teacher.

Draco wished he could arm himself with a wand and fight back but he was forced to watch and feel as the sadistic pliers descended on his hand.

"How did you manage to kill my men? What spell did you use? Where did you learn it?"

Draco kept eye contact defiant in his stare but sincere in his words. "I don't know."

The pain was excruciating. The nail was pulled upward in a slow effort and the flesh near the tip of the finger was burning as it was exposed to air and Draco already bled from his inner cheek as he bit down to muffle his cries.

"Do you know now, Malfoy?"

He had broken eye contact the second the pain had hit him. The pliers were still holding his nail apart. The next word heavily weighed him down as he replied. "No."

When he saw the frown he braced himself but he couldn't contain the yell of agony as blood surfaced beneath the nail when it was pulled and tugged in different directions in effort to remove it completely.

The agony was unbearable. He hadn't been aware how sensitive his fingers had been all this time until now. Such a small bodily wound and yet it caused so much pain. His left thumb was on fire as if it had been washed in acid.

Another hard tug and the nail was separated from the meat and his vision almost blacked out and he wished he could vanish into that blissful nothingness.

"Already screaming, Malfoy?" I haven't even reached the middle one yet... _Tsk, tsk_, these purebloods are more delicate than a flower."

Draco thought he heard someone laugh but he wasn't sure. He was trying to focus on a random point on the floor to ignore any external distraction so he could at least ease some of the pain and throbbing.

But he couldn't.

The leader hadn't given him ten seconds to recover and he was already starting on his index finger. The same sensation was much more amplified this time and Draco trashed on his spot.

"I don't know, goddamit!" I don't know – _**aaahh, **_STOP!" His fingers throbbed and bled painfully even though the leader had mercifully sopped.

_Oh god, his nails... He- he wouldn't look. He wouldn't. They weren't important, it was okay. He wasn't vain that a few missing nails would make his life miserable. But the pain... he wished for it to go away. At least the pain, please..._

"_Hmm_... what would you know...? The pureblood is being honest."

"Allow me and I will make him sing another tune."

"Now, now, Vrudel. We don't want the poor boy to pass out so soon, do we?"

The indignant grunt somehow relieved Draco. He wasn't sure that one wouldn't take things personal and cut one of his fingers – if not all – since that day he had been one of the few who had been so close to him in Diagon Alley.

"Where are the Death Eaters' headquarters?"

Draco stopped breathing. That information would not only jeopardize the dark side but also his family. He lowered his head in fake submission.

"I'm not even a fully fledged Death Eater... Do you think they would have shown me? I was only approached by one of them in my own house and given a date and that was the only contact we had."

"A date? Which and what for?" The leader inquired. Draco felt, from his tone of voice that he wasn't buying his story.

"I was told it was an initiation date into the ranks." He almost bit his tongue. How lame did that sound? But he couldn't do better at the moment. It was hard to think over pain.

"You are being very compliant... yet" Draco's heart skipped a beat as the leader crouched in front of him and took his chin in his hands. _Oh shit, he knew it was a lie, he knew it. _"... we are aware your father is very close to the Dark Lord. So you see, _Draco_... my problem right now is that I very much hate lies; they're so time-wasting. The truth will always surface, so why lie in the first place and make yourself _**hurt?**_"

Draco clenched his teeth as his injured fingers were crushed by the older man's fist. He hissed in pain and almost feared his teeth would break from the pressure.

He half glared at the leader, hatred burning in him. Who were these people to do such a thing to him? Who entitled them to interrogate him and demand him to lower his head? As he glared at the leader he hadn't expected what unfolded the moment their eyes met.

"_Legillimens_!"

His barriers had been up before he had finished the spell. He felt the familiar harsh probe of something trying to go past his first line of defence, wanting to shatter it without mercy. Yet, it wasn't as violent or as powerful as Voldemort's attack which he would always remember. As such, it didn't debilitate him at all.

He pushed harder against the leader's mind and he expelled him immediately. Draco regained his external senses and he could see some surprised faces from the corner of his eyes and Vrudel studying him from the back of his leader.

"You have most advanced Oclummency. And to know you're only fifteen... Very impressive. It is a pity such talent is wasted on you, though. I wonder how much you would have progressed if you wouldn't die here."

Draco's morale went rock bottom. The suspicion he already had it, but for it to be confirmed was a harsh blow to his drive.

"I thought we could have settled this without much bloodshed but you leave me no choice."

He recognized that tone. Draco braced himself as the leader's wand turned to him.

"_Cruccio!_"

He screamed and trashed but he had almost no mobility. Hot knives were tearing his skin, others stabbing deep to the bone and it burned, _it burned and it hurt. Oh god it really hurt_. He took a small comfort knowing it was nowhere near Voldemort's _cruccio,_ though.

His body convulsed on the chair, his senses all attuned to the pain, _the pain, PAIN, the burning and the stabbing, the cutting and the mauling, it was for too long, __**too long**__, he feared going insane _

_He _

_Was _

_Falling _

_Falling into the abyss of numbness which called __**so dearly**__ to him with sweet promises of feeling nothing, nothing at all... he wouldn't feel... anything... –NO! NO, ignore it. _He had seen how the Longbottoms had been after they had given up. He couldn't, **he wouldn't. **

Finally, _finally, _the curse was lifted. The relief that washed over him made his body slack without energy.

And he realized with desperation that it had been hours, not even days, since he had been brought here. He didn't think he could take this much longer.

* * *

Voldemort was sitting at the dining table with Lucius and Narcissa. And outsider might have mistaken the atmosphere as serene and comfortable, a simple brunch with a family friend. Voldemort unfolded that morning's Daily Prophet. As soon as his eyes fell on the headline, he chuckled.

_Ingenuous, but controversial, child..._

Lucius noticed the humour in Vodemort's expression and he wondered what could have gotten his Lord's spirits so high. Narcissa also seemed discreetly interested for she stopped eating.

"My Lord?" He dared to ask.

Amused red eyes turned to his follower. "You haven't read today's news, Lucius?"

The Malfoy head grabbed his copy. He would always read it after he was done eating, with a cup of coffee. His brows furrowed at the first page.

"_UNEXPECTED REVELATIONS: THE PARKINSON FAMILY DABBLED IN DARK? _

_A few hours ago, the Daily Prophet received a very valuable anonymous tip that Mr. Parkinson, head of the family, Undersecretary of the Minister of Magic, might have been a supporter of the Dark cause. Another tip was also sent to the Ministry office where the allegations against Mr. Parkinson were inspected. We contacted the Ministry but our attempts to clarify if these tips held their truth were refused. _

_The anonymous tip included the proof in the form of a receipt of a very dark item which had been banned for safety issues by the Ministry itself in 1901 – the mystical ring of Alexis. The purchase had been made in 1986._

_Upon Ministry inspection of the veracity of the receipt, a secret raid was issued few hours after to Mr. Parkinson's house, part of the new protocol to reduce corruption in Britain, and the artefact was shockingly hidden in the basement with many other dubious materials. _

_Mr. Parkinson is now going to trial this week and we will follow up on its progression."_

Lucius stared at the newspaper in his hands. Who had tipped the Ministry and The Daily Prophet? His grip crumpled slightly the edges of the paper.

"Still haven't figured it out, Lucius?" Voldemort sounded disappointed.

"... My Lord?" His Lord knew who it had been? Yet, why had he sounded amused by the situation when he had lost one of his followers to the Ministry? It meant that there was a traitor among the ranks! Parkinson wasn't a forgetful or clumsy man. He had been in a very high position... certainly his Lord should be bothered by the tremendous loss to their side?

Voldemort mock sighed.

"You would have been aware of the disapproval of the boy's marriage had you paid more attention to your surroundings, no? After all, you are his father, are you not?"

'His son? Was he speaking about Draco...?' Lucius' eyes widened. Surely, his Lord wouldn't think to blame his son for this...?

Voldemort _tsked_.

"You are losing your touch, Lucius."

The man lowered his eyes and blushed discreetly at the insult.

"No matter, this will work to my advantage."

Lucius didn't have enough time to ponder on the information that Draco had purposely accused one of their own and delivered him to the Light side. Sudden fury and embarrassment at his son's actions overtook him.

A strange owl hooted and landed on his table, big round eyes staring at Narcissa to receive the message. She removed the letter and her expression turned slightly concerned as she read the familiar cursive.

"It's from Draco's school and it's addressed to both of us."

Lucius looked uncomfortable having to disclose personal information about his family in front of his Lord but he didn't dare excuse himself from the table, not now with what his son might have done. He didn't want to appear he was hiding anything from his Lord, least he think he had been involved or even motivated his foolish son to such treachery.

His Lord looked more composed than he was at the moment and Lucius berated himself for losing his calm so easily. He also seemed less... sickly - his skin had a new shine to it which looked almost healthy even. Lately, his Lord had appeared less terrifying.

He gestured to his wife to open the letter. If he had received information from McGonagall then it was on a serious tone. Had Draco's grades plummeted?

He woke up from his musings when the Dark Lord spoke.

"What is it, Narcissa?"

Only then did he notice the tremor in his wife's fragile hands and the palling of her complexion as she turned to him with a lost expression. What had that boy done again?!

"Our son is missing."

Lucius' anger evaporated. Otherwise, he didn't react. He didn't know how to.

* * *

Voldemort watched closely as Lucius froze. He rose up from his chair, went past through where the Malfoy head inspected the letter more attentively. He looked past the man's head and scanned the cursive briefly. It explained in upfront words about the Hogsmeade trip and how Draco hadn't returned back to the meeting point where teachers had waited for him for several hours and had started searching Diagon Alley but without any sign of him.

Voldemort didn't know much about the boy's antics at his age but he doubted the Malfoy heir would be as reckless as a Gryffindor.

Something was wrong and Narcissa's instincts seemed to understand that too.

On the same moment, one of his most devoted soldiers walked in the room and kneeled before him.

"Arise." The man – vampire – was an efficient follower and he obeyed him faithfully. He had ordered him to infiltrate and spy on this new amateur group that called themselves righteous and claimed they worked for the goal of all wizards by wanting to merge with _muggles_. If Lector was here, going against his order to watch Singuigal constantly, then he had important data. Especially to appear in the view of others; he was part of his secret army that not even Lucius was aware of.

His tone betrayed his annoyance. "Speak."

"My Lord, forgive me for not waiting" Lector's eyes had fallen onto the other occupants of the room "but Draco Malfoy is being held and tortured for information at this very minute and I could not wait much longer since I suspect he will disclose important information. Ever since his disappearance from yesterday's afternoon, he has been relentlessly pressured with questions about us. He might reveal your whereabouts, my Lord. Command me and I will obey." Lector had fallen on his knee, ready to act.

Voldemort considered. He knew the Malfoys were waiting with batted breath for an answer from their Lord. "Seems we will have to alter our plans. As inconvenient as it is, bring Lucius his son as of now. Our goals have changed. Exterminate them, we have no more use for them."

"My Lord! Thank you, I am eternally indebted!"

Voldemort watched with a sneer as Lucius dropped to his feet and kissed the hem of his robes. Narcissa was more composed although he noticed the faint evidence of water in her eyes.

Lector had vanished in the shadows to bid to his orders.

Voldemort wondered at the Singuigal's interest in the boy. Yes, he had been rather pleased to see Draco perform a successful _cruccio_ when he had gone through his memories, yet there was something Voldemort felt he didn't know about the Malfoy heir and he very much disliked not knowing.

Voldemort materialized to his temporary quarters. Although he didn't enjoy the presence of other wizards and this much movement in the property he was residing, he had chosen wisely to perform this experiment in Lucius' Manor. Here he had the most security, although he really didn't need any form of protection. The potion vial Severus had aided him in brewing sat on his desk near the runic parchment where complex diagrams akin to a mechanical device lay.

He also had Severus at reach in case some unexpected reaction occurred.

Voldemort clenched his jaw shut from the annoyance on having to rely on someone. His runic system was one of its kind and very entwined which meant if one rune failed, the other might fall down too. And he had no idea of the consequences since it had been the first time a wizard had attempted what he did.

On his back were three main functioning and two mediator inscribed runes. Out of these three main ones, the central had been the most difficult to activate and to create. He had enhanced his own magic so as to kick start it and it was presently extracting small amounts from his magical core at a constant rhythm in order to maintain the spell inscribed on it.

It would allow him a slow regeneration of his muggle father's former body – which he had acquired after the ritual with Potter last year – by combining muggle DNA knowledge with magical execution.

The second rune kept the first one in check so it would not fail to extract the designated amount and go low or over the necessary quantity. After all, he needed his magic for battle and wouldn't want this to hinder his power. It would not do well for him to end weak from his low magical reserves.

The third rune was linked to his somatic cells, which were manipulated by his spell so their genetic makeup would not continue to reproduce and generate faulty cells which gave him his physical attributes.

It would be a lengthy process of replacing the cells in his body for new ones.

If he suspected correctly, this setup had a very convenient side effect which would be constant regeneration for as long as he had his magical core. In case of injury, he had set his spells to activate an 'alarm system' where the runes' functions would increase to restore the balance to his body. In other words he had reinforced his immortality.

Now he had a few months of waiting and monitoring his own state and progress to see how well his creation would work.

* * *

"Still not going to talk?"

Draco cried out in pain for the tenth time that hour. He wasn't sure, he didn't keep track well now anymore. His robes were dirty with his own caked blood and they were torn in several places. He gritted his teeth as the third _cruccio_ had been cast on him. This time, the one torturing him was Vrudel as his leader poised the same questions over and over again.

"Where's the location of He-who-must-not-be-named? Where's your hideout?"

Draco screamed as invisible ropes bound him to the chair to keep him in place as the pain of the Unforgivable racked through his body.

'_Not anymore... stop... I can't take this any longer... Why is no one coming to help me?" _

Finally, his eyelids lowered and all around him was dark and still. Everything was quiet and unfeeling. He drifted off into bliss... _No more pain_. That thought almost placed a smile on his face.

"_Enervate_."

Ice cold water ran through his whole body, shocking him awake. He whimpered in despair. How pathetic he was.

"I tried to be fair with you. But since you won't cooperate, you won't need this anymore." The leader unpocketed his wand and Draco's heart skipped a beat. "Dead people don't need their wands, after all." A pang ran through his chest when his wand was snapped in half. His eyes stayed glued to the spot where the two pieces were thrown.

His wand... But he wouldn't need it anymore. Yes, he wouldn't... The first wand was always special to any wizard. It was the most compatible with one's magic. Now it lay there, broken as if to display his failure as a wizard.

Draco's eyes were forced up as his hair was fisted and his head pulled upward. He didn't even have the strength to wince. Maybe he should just tell them where he thought they were, most likely at the Malfoy's Manor.

His mind didn't immediately register when the grip on his hair disappeared and Vrudel had stepped away from him.

The chaos that ensued after was instant.

Familiarly dark clad figures materialized and clashed with his captors.

Draco wasn't alert until he felt the binding spell release him, indicating his captor had lost focus on him. Exhausted as he was, he jumped to his feet only to stumble and fall on his knees as his unused legs gave up. A blue jet whizzed past his left ear and he didn't dare get up in order to not risk getting hit by a spell and die stupidly as someone else's bodyguard.

Draco crawled between the fighting men and toward his broken wand on the floor. He grabbed it and tore a piece of his cloak which he used to tie the two ends together. A rush of magic travelled up his arm and slightly reinvigorated his hope. It was enough for him to determinedly conjure a cutting hex on a vital artery in the neck of one of the ordinarily dressed wizards that belong to Singuigal. He had aimed for another but the unstable wand had done its job; an enemy was an enemy down.

He dodged with Quidditch speed he didn't know he still had as a well aimed spell intended to kill him.

"Do not let them escape!" At the leader's orders, the members of Singuigal fought with renewed determination. Draco tiredly moved to a corner, trying to get past them unnoticed. He limped his way across the one-room cabin, spotting the exit magically concealed on the opposite end of him. He groaned in frustration. The Death Eaters who had come to his rescue were outnumbered but they fought with an agility he hadn't seen before. Their fighting style was much more advanced than the average powerful wizard's and the Singuigal felt that on their own skin.

Draco couldn't use a _bombarda_ to create an immediate exit else he might risk catching one of the Death Eaters in the fire.

One of the enemies collapsed on the floor three meters away from him, his body unrecognizable from the severity of the burns on his skin. Draco averted his eyes from the gruesome sight just in time to see Vrudel advance purposely toward him with rage in his eyes as he aimed his wand at him. Draco shifted his stance, ready to roll on the floor to dodge any incoming attacks, but it was hard to move between all these people in this restricted place.

A purple jet of an unknown spell travelled in a straight line toward him. Draco quickly sidestepped it only to watch shocked as the spell bounced off the wall straight into one of Vrudel's comrades.

For the few seconds he wasted on observing with sick fascination as the man's head exploded, making his stomach churn in revulsion, Vrudel's maniacal persecution had directed another one of the same spell toward him. Draco had only time to jump to his side.

It took him a few moments to register the pain. He stared wide eyed as his arm felt suddenly very hot, extremely so. Vrudel flashed a satisfied smirk at him.

There was a quickly growing pressure from the side of his upper arm and all of this happened in less than two seconds: extreme pain overwhelmed him to his knees, blackening his vision and nausea welled up behind his throat. Part of his arm had exploded. He dared to look and regretted the action; there was a hole in his arm and he could see blood gushing out at frightening speed, muscle fibres and flesh exposed to the air.

Draco's shaking right hand aimed his broken wand to his horrible wound and prayed to Merlin it wouldn't backfire when he whispered an advanced patching spell.

He didn't have time to mentally recover before he was kicked on his face. Without any strength left, he fell on the floor, sprawled open. As he tried to lift his upper body from the floor with his healthy hand, Vrudel grabbed him by the collar of his robes and in a chocking grip he was dragged along the floor. Without caring, Vrudel had blasted a hole in the wall and walked through it while dragging him along.

Draco's conscience terrifyingly wavered, the shock of being dragged through freezing snow doing a small part of keeping him awake.

He was yanked a good distance from the cabin where chaos and fighting still happened inside but was slowly drifting to the Death Eaters' favour but Draco knew they were still too outnumbered to notice him.

Draco's collar was released ad a rush of determination to survive forced him on his feet. He quickly turned around to face his captor just in time to dodge a punch to his faced but he hadn't expected the other fist to immediately follow.

He was hit square on the jaw and he felt the bone crack. His jugular was broken.

The force of the hit made him turn and fall again on his hands and knees. Vrudel grabbed his hair and pulled it hard.

"I'm going make sure your violated corpse is found by your pureblood family, right under their doorstep. Or maybe I will leave you in public view so everyone can see how _filthy_ you really are."

Draco tried to struggle, to fight the larger man off as his tattered school robe was lifted in one swift movement. His weakness frustrated him. Even if he yelled – if he had the power to – he doubted anyone would hear him from this distance.

'_No, no, no NO! This can't be happening, it can't. NO!'_

"No!" His weak protest seemed to only fuel the hands unbuttoning his uniform pants to work faster. Nausea overtook him at the moment he heard the clink of a belt and the lowering of a zipper and Draco dry heaved several times at the images predicting what would follow in his head.

"Disgusting filth! How dare you act superior to us when you're nothing but trash?!"

He was kicked on his side. He heaved again and almost thought he would pass out from the lack of oxygen. "I'll show you who has to bend to whom!"

Hands fell on his hips and tugged on his pants.

'_No no NO!'_

With the last ounce of adrenaline energy, Draco back kicked Vrudel and rolled to his feet, crying out at his injured arm. His vision swam for a few seconds but he shrugged it off as every fraction of it was more important than the discomfort.

He heard the grunted insult from the hunched figure. "You fucking little **bitch**...!"

Vrudel was on his knees and Draco did not hesitate, rage fuelled by what was about to be done to him. He conjured all his spare magic.

"_**Avada kedavra**_." He watched as the snow worked against the other wizard and slowed down his reaction time. The body was lifeless before it fell backwards on the snow, eyes wide open in disbelief. Draco stared impassively at his first kill.

_It's not over._

He turned around immediately as he felt a presence approaching from behind, wand aimed and a deadly incantation on his lips.

"Easy, easy. I was sent by the Dark Lord to return you home." Lector looked past him to the body on the ground.

Draco noticed the paleness of the other man and how he hadn't heard the man's footsteps on the snow. He stared at him more attentively. There was a dark mysterious aura about him and he recalled on the spot what he had studied. "You're a vampire. I wasn't aware the Dark Lord had an alliance with you."

"Impressive for you to reach that conclusion in a few seconds. I also see you single handled defeated the best duellist from Singuigal."

Draco frowned. He raised his wand back at this vampire in a fraction of a second, his mind processing solely on adrenaline.

"You belong with them; you've been there for the past few days when I was tortured."

The vampire rose his hands up in submission, his expression serious. "I am not part of them. But yes, your observational skills are correct. I've been a spy for the Dark Lord. That is how we have responded so quickly, because I knew of this place when you were brought here. I have reported to the Dark Lord about your kidnapping and was sent to rescue you-"

Draco fell forward, his eyes shut closed as his body's adrenaline expired. The only thing he had been aware of was being caught and carried by the vampire.


	15. You've forgotten, child

_**The struggle of man against power is the struggle of memory against forgetting**_

_- Milan Kundera_

* * *

**M**y Lord, he single-handedly killed the second in command, Vrudel."

Voldemort sat on one of Lucius' most regal chairs near the fireplace in the Malfoy Library. He had been reading an interesting family book on spells passed throughout the generations before he was interrupted by Lector, one of his most subservient servants who was also the leader of a vampire clan with whom he had forged alliances. Although, most benefits tilted toward his cause, of course...

Draco Malfoy had been brought to the Manor not even an hour ago and was placed into intensive care as he had supported various injuries and a particular disfiguring one on his arm as his servant reported.

"Careful, Lector. Your emotions aren't becoming."

Lector lowered his head at the accusation. "I am merely reporting the events, my Lord."

"And what makes you report so advantageously of the boy, I wonder?"

"He defeated the best duellist in _Singuigal with_ a broken wand without any form of rest after the ordeal he was put through. I do not think I am favouring him by speaking the truth, my Lord. He appears more competent than half of your followers."

Voldemort let Lector's tone go past him as he contemplated on the points his servant made. _Draco_... He had a lot to offer, indeed. He was promising, _very promising_ just as he had noticed years ago. But he was growing strong, _too strong and too fast._ He needed to secure him now before he could escape him. Great power wasn't known to follow, but_** to lead**__._

"There is another piece of information I overheard while I was infiltrated, my Lord."

Voldemort listened absentmindedly as he tried to envision various scenarios that would solve the boy's current digression.

"... Draco Malfoy was the sole responsible individual for the mysterious Diagon Alley incident and not a group attack as we had suspected."

Voldemort's head snapped back to glare at the vampire at his feet. "**Explain yourself**." His anger was felt by the lesser of the two as the figure shook with trepidation.

"Although the young one doesn't know, his magic manifested itself when he felt in grave danger. I am not sure where his limits end, my Lord."

Voldemort's eyebrow rose as he detected the vocal and magical shift in the vampire. His follower _admired_ the boy. That was not acceptable.

Lector had sensed his Lord's conclusion. He added quickly in a harsher tone. "He is a dangerous wizard, a time bomb if left to roam freely, my Lord. He cannot tame his magic and he might cause damage to us all if a similar incident occurs. He will be a danger to his comrades in raids."

"Very well, Lector. You will be in charge of testing his limits and teaching the Malfoy child to control his magic. Let it not interfere with your duties."

"Of course, my Lord." The vampire bowed and materialized within the shadows, disappearing from the room.

Voldemort's eyes bled red and his magic spiked dangerously making the sleeping Nagini hiss.

"_Masster your magic is painful." _

Voldemort contained his power instantly. "_I apologize, my pet. I could not restrain my... excitement." _

Draco Malfoy... Only fifteen and had already summoned a successful killing curse and _cruciatus_, two of the _Unforgivables_. He had been aware of the boy's power when he hadn't even reached his knees. That is why he was so furious. He had instructed Lucius with precise orders to teach the child obedience to him, subjugation and respect. Now the boy was running rampant, doing whatever he pleased, scheming and executing his own plans... And his power was growing. It was **not** acceptable.

He would be harder to mould now.

But wait...

Voldemort reclined back, the tension in his shoulders disappearing. It could prove to be to his advantage.

So different than Lucius, he was. He had surpassed his father magically although he doubted he was even noticed... Lesser wizards wouldn't be able to sense power even if it stood in front of them. You had to hit them with it. Vampires had a keen sense and affinity for magic and their surroundings and that was the reason Lector had sensed the boy's powers.

Dumbledore, that old fool would have been able to sense it too if he wasn't so prejudiced against his House. Anything associated to the Slytherins wasn't worthy of his _noble _attention. It was his mistake. Let him focus on Potter. That wrinkle on his robes would disappear soon enough.

There were things which he had been interested in... _a power so massive it had obliterated everything around him_... few were the occasions he obsessed about something.

* * *

Draco opened his eyes and he had expected to be bombarded by pain from his wounds so he was surprised when he was feeling pretty ok. He instantly recognized his room and understood he was back home.

Carefully testing his hands, he flexed the arms and stopped when his left one shot an immense amount of pain all the way through his neck. He wasn't cured yet, just numbed down. He used his right arm to straighten himself up into an upright position.

"Young Master is awake, sir? Lucy will warn Mistress, sir."

Startled, Draco saw the house-elf vanish from near the freshly burning fireplace. Draco groaned as he tried to stand but he felt so tired even after having rested. He took tentative steps, slowly and patiently walking toward his wardrobe to dress himself with a robe. He grabbed his broken wand from the nightstand on his way and reluctantly risked conjuring a cast for his injured arm.

It was rather difficult to slip on a simple, yet expensive robe over his black pyjamas with only one hand. Now Lucy would have been of use...

He almost jumped out of his skin when the door opened and his parents stepped in.

"Draco!" His mother hugged hi m as if he had been gone for years when in reality it had been only a few months since summer. He winced as she crushed his arm with the force of the hug. Narcissa retracted immediately and Draco was surprised to see tears in her eyes as she stroked his cheek just like when he had been small. When she noticed him half-dressed with the robe and that he was out and about she seemed to awaken.

"What are you doing out of bed? You should be resting! It's been only four hours since you were brought home! The doctor said you needed to recover..."

"Mother." He interrupted her fast paced coddling. "I am fine, really. Other than famished, that is." He grinned reassuringly.

He went past her when he noticed Lucius standing near the door.

"Draco."

"Father." He nodded.

"Your mother is correct. You will be resting for today, but tomorrow..." His voice and eyes turned slightly darker and serious "... we will speak."

"Lucius..." His mother spoke softly.

"'Cissy, this is something still unacceptable from our son who is the heir to the Malfoy status and fortune. He has to understand where his loyalties lie." Although he had addressed his mother, Lucius had never broken eye contact with him.

Draco's assumption was that he hadn't reported any progress to the Dark Lord about his befriending Potter but the way his father had formulated his sentence made him think he might be wrong.

"We will talk about this tomorrow. For now you can go for a light supper and rest after. Goodnight." Lucius was tense, he could feel it in his aura. He hated how he was ordered around like a child. Before his mother exited the room after Lucius, she turned to him.

"If you need anything, Draco, don't hesitate, ok?" Draco nodded and closed the door behind her.

"Lucy." The house-elf apparated.

"Yes, young Master?"

"Help me dress."

"Right away, sir Master."

* * *

It was one a.m. which explained the stillness of the Manor. No Death eaters loitering around, no meetings, no noise. The Death Eaters didn't live in the Manor; it was only used as headquarters during the day.

As Draco ate a stew, having declined the porridge, he noticed that morning's newspaper on the dining table. The house elves hadn't tidied that room yet. Curious, he studied the first page.

A splitting grin lighted his face instantly when he read it. '_Not bad Skeeter, not bad.'_ So this was what Lucius wanted to talk to him about. He should be grateful that he had removed Parkinson from Office. Now Lucius could gain the absolute trust of the Minister and climb up even higher on the ladder.

"Basking in your small victory so soon?"

Draco jumped on his chair at the terrifyingly familiar aura. He had been so self-absorbed that he hadn't even felt Voldemort approach.

"Most of my followers wouldn't dare address me like that."

'_Shit_.'

Draco rose to his feet immediately and bent at his knee, head lowered.

"My Lord."

"Am I really your Lord, Draco...? Then again, you are not officially my follower."

Draco panicked inside when Voldemort stepped more into the dining room, closing in toward his kneeling form.

"Of course, my Lord. My father has served you faithfully all these year-"

"I am **not** speaking about _Lucius_!"

Draco kept quiet at the dangerous hiss.

"You have delivered one of my most important followers in the Ministry to the Light side and you did this by yourself. This is a demonstration of disrespect toward all the Death Eaters and an act of treason toward _**me**_."

Draco furrowed his brows when he felt the heavy pressure of Voldemort's magic with each step the man took.

The older wizard stopped in front of him, his frame towering over his hunched form. He had a sense of _déjà-vu _as he stared at impeccable shoes. Draco didn't recall feeling this much power oozing from the man. When he inhaled he could _taste_ his magic on the roof of his mouth and it was incredible. It prickled the back of his skull. The man was a living epitome of Magic itself. If Dumbledore thought he could defeat Him, then he was sorely mistaken.

"Dumbledore is an old man. A dying old fool."

Draco tensed. He thought he had his _Oclummency_ shields up and after double checking he was sure they had been.

"_Tsk tsk_. Have you not just felt the extent of my power, child? I do not need to destroy your Oclummency shields again in order for me to have access to your thoughts."

Draco tensed. '_What – how is that possible... I've mastered _Oclummency_, there is no way he could go past my barriers unnoticed!_'

He abstained from flinching when Voldemort bowed at the waist to stare him straight in the eyes.

"You are an open book to me, child. Although," Voldemort straightened himself and circled him "I am not sure where your loyalties lie."

Draco's neck tensed, hairs raised on the back as he felt eyes burning behind him. "Obviously, with you, my Lord."

"Then you offer yourself to take my Mark, this instant?"

The abrupt question left him speechless. He caught himself with his mouth hanging slack.

"Y-yes, my Lord, if that's what it takes to prove my loyalty to you... but it will be harder for me to go undetected at Hogw-" he despised himself at that moment for being so out of control; it was so unlike him to babble. It was unsightly even to his own ears.

"More than someone acting on their own accord, I find **liars** even more despicable."

Draco tensed impossibly more at the threat. He had never witnessed Voldemort lose his temper and he hoped today wasn't the day.

"Then again, your rebellion against your father has proven to be quite an advantage to my plans..."

Draco's surprise made him unable to process the sentence for a few seconds. So it seemed he had been caught red handed.

If he was being spared today, he doubted he would be the next time.

"My Lord, I do not understand..." Draco tried, although he knew he would never get more information than what Voldemort wanted him to know.

"You do not have to, child. It's not your duty to think, but to follow. You've yet to state any progress regarding Harry Potter. I expect you've made some progress in your task?" His voice was deceivingly calm but Draco understood that the more serene he sounded, the more dangerous he was.

The short pause indicated it would be best for Draco to have an answer.

"Potter is hard to reach considering the difference between our Houses but I am slowly getting accepted by him. We have... a history of not getting along, my Lord." Draco didn't know how much that had sufficed but he could feel Voldemort's magic turn heavier, unpleasant.

"I would not like to be disappointed by you twice, _Draco_. You've showed some promise but I might have read too far... I expect Potter to be conquered by the original deadline. There is no room for excuses."

"Yes, my Lord." He lowered his head. Draco's knees ached from his position. The wound on his arm was very sensitive to any type of movement or pressure. He could feel the new layers of skin stretching uncomfortable beneath his robes.

He didn't dare move from his position though. The dark oppressive aura from Voldemort's towering presence made his skin crawl and the fine hair on it stood on edge. He was aware of every shift in the older man's aura and it greatly disturbed him that he wasn't as repulsed by him and his appearance as he should.

For a moment he remained silent, yet inwardly he fought a battle with himself. Should he inform Voldemort about the link between him and Potter? Part of him scoffed and yelled _YES_, he should and that his Lord needed to know and he should never keep information from the Dark Lord. Ever. He had been taught to serve and obey.

A bigger part of him reasoned that Voldemort would know either way for he would be able to extract that piece of information from him in a blink of an eye. And what guarantee he had that Voldemort wasn't even aware of all he was thinking right then? So he should spare himself the dilemma and the consequences of lying to the Dark Lord and forget about Potter's saftery and think about his own.

Drao swallowed when he felt Voldemort's magic grow impatient.

"Potter seems to share a... connection with you, my Lord. He explained to me he saw through your eyes some of the Death Eaters' meetings." He kept his gaze on the floor, expecting a maddened outburst.

He didn't anticipate Voldemort's reply and startled, his eyes met deep burgundy automatically.

"Of course, Potter saw what I wanted him to see. Did you think I was not aware of it?"

Draco couldn't avert his gaze from the eyes which bore into his own, strangely amused.

"Honestly, I wouldn't have thought your impression of me would have worsened with the years."

Draco was strongly confused and Voldemort sensed him at loss which seemed to irritate him to the point where Draco winced from dark magic _physically_ lashing at him. When he broke eye contact due to the pain, Voldemort appeared to have calmed down.

"It is rather a pity... you were much more..."

Draco didn't know of what Voldemort was referring to. He didn't remember meeting Voldemort when he was younger... Did he? Had he ever? Would it have been possible? Well...

He thought a very distorted memory started surfacing to him but was quickly interrupted and vanished without a trace when the baritone voice.

Draco's eyes opened incredibly wide and he was glad his head was lowered toward the floor, the ever submissive posture. _His_ voice... it was no longer high pitched, bordering to deformed vocal cords... it was **normal** now. Draco frowned. No, that wasn't the correct description. It was deep and rather enthralling. _**God**_, how absorbed in his fear had he been that he hadn't noticed that earlier?!

"I've been made aware that your wand was damaged yet I would not like to be disappointed by you twice with excuses and underperformances. You are to attend Lector's training. You recent incidents have left me with the distasteful knowledge that you cannot control your own magic. Lucius has failed to guide you, yet again." Voldemort mock sighed before he turned around and walked away, deeming him unimportant enough to verbally dismiss him.

It was weird coming from _Him_.

Draco didn't move out of his spot, even when his body was aching in renewed pain, before Voldemort had exited the dining room.

He wiped seat from his brow. He had so much to grow just to be able to reach Voldemort's heels in terms of magical power. Strangely, he felt compelled to attend those lessons that the Dark Lord himself had provided to him.

He would be able to learn things which were not taught at Hogwarts or anywhere. But first, rest.

* * *

Voldemort hadn't slept. He had spent hours reading about Draco Malfoy. His school performance, people he associated with, his interests – and this was what had kept him thinking endlessly; what exactly were the boy's interests? Even the most detailed reports indicated Quidditch and social gatherings but those were his activities. It didn't mean he was interested in them. He could be doing them out of obligation. And strangely, Draco would never strike him as a _people's person_. Especially as a toddler, he had been socially isolated and kept to himself most of the time. It had been important for him to grow up craving for any small bit of attention and praise; people with the _need to_ _please_ were easily manipulated. That had been the goal of his education that he had discussed with Lucius. And his father had been so eager to do so if it meant his son would serve as his right hand, to **him**, the most powerful dark wizard in existence.

His magical abilities were unknown for the most part since he was too young to have been evaluated but Voldemort knew he was an adept at _Oclummency_, a rather difficult subject, and had displayed magnificent capacity for dark and forbidden spells. But such was expected, after all he was the son of two dark pureblood casters. Yet, there were unexplained magical manifestations which Voldemort planned on understanding more.

Draco would surpass his father easily. He needed to make sure he would swear his loyalties to him in a wizard's oath. His defiant spirit reminded him too much of Potter... such a wretched child. But soon he would be disposed off.

Draco would be subservient to him.

The boy was rather manipulative also, having devised and executed a formidable way to take down one of the most renowned families at his services. It was rather strange how this 'treason' had not bothered him much. He had been calm enough to even see the advantage of such occasion.

He would infiltrate in the Ministry by applying for Parkinson's old post, yet only after his physical transformation was complete. He would not risk setting any wards or wizards off with an illusion charm. After that, he could place his plan into motion without delay...

Nagini slithered closer to his chair positioned in front of the fireplace.

* * *

Draco woke up a few hours after sun rise and huffed in irritation as he trotted the lengthy corridor of his house. He was irritated. Why did he have to do as this man ordered, every single time? And why did Voldemort - who was so powerful – inhabit his house? Couldn't he build one? Why did he have to do as this man ordered, every single time?

His feet had automatically sent him to his now training room. The space had been cleared of the grand tapestry and recliners, leaving nothing but a fireplace in a vast open space.

"You're disturbed. Good."

Draco jumped at the unexpected voice behind him.

"Your magic is harder to control when you're not focused. Fast reflexes, always important. But how fast can you be when you're fighting yourself?"

Draco's eyebrow rose at that rhetorical question.

"You seem to have a very rare disability; you cannot control your own power. For my race, it is the same as being a squib."

The corners of his mouth folded into a sneer at the insult.

"Not only you are a liability to others, you are a danger to yourself. No one will be able to rely on you for back up. Your own magic will consume you. At your age, I have never encountered wizard or witch alike who had successfully managed to learn something which is inherent to a ten year old."

That was rather encouraging. What, was that supposed to motivate him or something? He stared at the vampire, _'Lector'_ if he remembered correctly. Well, thankfully, he didn't plan on grouping with other Death Eaters so all of this was pointless.

"Now, let's proceed with our first lesson. We have one week before you return to Hogwarts and I will not tolerate weak commitment."

Geesh, everything was his fault wasn't it.

"I cannot proceed with this..." Draco pointedly showed his broken wand to the vampire.

"You won't need a wand for the first lessons yet, but I would suggest you replace it immediately. A disarmed wizard is of no use to the Dark Lord."

A pang of annoyance ran through Draco. Everything was destined for one finality: Voldemort. He was getting tired of men and women professing their duties and undying worship for the man.

"Now, let's begin with the lesson. We will start with the standard procedure for your situation and go from there onwards."

"Is that the same method others have used? The same others who failed? I recall you saying something about it being rather pointless for a wizard of my age to even _try_. Doesn't that indicate that «perhaps» the method itself is wrong?" Draco's voice hadn't wavered, in fact, he had to check his tone and subdue it.

"Your job is not to question, but to follow."

Now, from _**whom**_ had he heard that before? Boy, did those two have something in common... Draco rolled his eyes.

"Seems you weren't properly disciplined. It is very unusual for a pureblood family to overlook the heir's education." Lector looked condescendingly at him, as if he suddenly had less value.

Draco crossed his arms. "Because I don't follow blindly? Should I not use the head upon my shoulders? I was sure it served a purpose..." He trailed off mockingly, sarcasm dripping from him.

"Your purpose is to serve the Dark Lord, to fight, to obey and to **die**for him. You are his follower, not his advisor!" Extended fangs glinted in the morning light peeking through the grand windows.

Draco had to admit Lector looked slightly intimidating when he hissed like that. An oppressive atmosphere hung in the room.

Way to start off the «right» foot on his first day. Well, it wasn't like he _tried_.

"Now..." The vampire's eyes no longer looked tinted by yellow "I will teach what I was ordered to. If you refuse to learn, it is of no consequence to my person." With a flick of his black wand, Lector had closed the curtains, drawing darkness and stillness into the room. "In order to understand magic, one has to dull other senses to feel it."


	16. A unicorn

A/N: I've sadly noticed how this fiction is not getting as much attention as before, not even referring to the 2-3 reviews per chapter, but to the number of readers that I can track from the stats of this story. Is it going downhill? Is it not exciting anymore? Is it getting out of hand, are there too many gramatical errors or is the writing simply spoiling the plot? Or is it the plot itself...?

* * *

**_"I can make things move without touching them. I can make animals do what I want without training them. I can make bad things happen to people who are mean to me. I can make them hurt, if I want."_**

_-Tom Marvolo Riddle  
_

* * *

"I want you to clear your thoughts like you do for Oclummency, but this time do not worry about storing away any memories. Simply forget you are here for now..."

Draco sighed and closed his eyes reluctantly. This exercise came easily to him. He stopped thinking; he removed Lector's impression from his mind, he stopped being aware he was standing, he didn't think about his surroundings, he ignored past worries and problems that tried to surface in the dead quiet of his mind and he only allowed himself to breathe. That was all he focused on: the sound of his breathing. He stayed like that for a while and even his focus on the air entering and escaping his lungs drifted off... there was nothing.

Just darkness behind his eyes which sometimes would flash into small bursts of white.

Time had no meaning to him in that state. He didn't know if seconds or minutes had passed. All he did at that moment was exist.

A bright blue light flashed in a growing rhythm behind his closed eyelids, startling him. As soon as that emotion overtook his mind, it disappeared immediately. Draco opened his eyes and he was aware of all around and inside him. He was breathing heavier than usual and he felt a tingle on the skin of his arms.

"What did you see?" Lector's tone appeared genuinely curious.

"A bright blue flash... It was continuous, almost pulsating. And it grew more intense with each beat. What was it?"

Lector seemed to ponder. "Blue in colour, you said? Are you absolutely sure?"

"Yes!" Draco said excitedly... His eyes widened at his overactive state. He felt... giddy.

"That is not possible." Lector dismissed his statement as if he had invented it and that insulted Draco. Enormously so, which should he have stopped to ponder about it, he would think it rather strange of him.

"Of course it is! I just told you!" He glared at the 'supposed' teacher.

"No, it's not."

He felt as if he was a child arguing with another. "Why?!" His anger rose quickly.

"Because you would either be dead or a squib. And seeing as none of them applies to you, I do not see how that is possible."

* * *

"Are you absolutely sure this is true, Lector?"

"Yes, my Lord. The Malfoy heir said so himself and I believe he was being honest. I didn't give him any information that might have influenced his answer."

Voldemort crossed his hands and leaned back on his chair. His hair had started growing in oddly looking patches but he didn't care about aesthetics. He would spend most time of his transformation inside this room either way and he could use a glamour in order to avoid prying eyes.

"Blue, you said? What tone?"

"Light blue, my Lord."

His follower had arrived with the news that Draco Malfoy had entered a trance-like state and contacted with his magic core on the first attempt and it had omitted an extremely light blue hue. Visually, the tones varied between bright red, orange and yellow, fiery colours, warm tones in the spectrum which indicated magic was alive, active. His own had been fierce red, blindingly so and he would never forget how he had needed over two full minutes to regain his vision, such was the intensity of the power of his magic.

When a wizard had cold coloured magic, such as magenta, green, purple and lastly blue, his core was inactive, basically meaning he was a squib or either dying. Now, Draco Malfoy was not a squib and was very much alive so Voldemort understood Lector's dilemma.

Voldemort stared down at the older vampire.

"I want you to try something in your evening sessions with the boy. Make him use his magic, rile him up if you need him to take you seriously and then repeat the same exercise you did earlier today. Go, now."

"Yes, my Lord." When his servant disappeared, Voldemort had already formulated different possibilities – either the boy had been wrong, his magic core was appallingly weak or his magic had been replenishing and suspended its activities after it had healed him – which seemed the most plausible explanation – or there was something very unique about him and if that was the case, then he wouldn't stop exhausting all possibilities until he found the answer.

If Lector came back to tell him that his core had been an even lighter blue then his theory was correct. The magic was dangerously depleted and the foolish boy wasn't even aware of that, which also meant Lector was very incompetent at identifying the signs of _fatigue_.

* * *

Draco had been given a break – although he felt he had been dismissed – when Lector had looked rather skeptical before he had bailed on him. He felt as information was being held from his person, which usually didn't bother him much but this was about himself. He had the right to be the first to be informed.

His mother had gone to attend one of her usual social gatherings and his father seemed to be on a day-long mission. The Death Eaters were bound to arrive at night since meetings were held at late hours in order not to interfere with daily activities.

The house was bare except for the elves, Lector and Voldemort.

He stared at his _filet mignon_ and roasted asparagus.

It had always been liked this. The quiet and stillness which allowed the Grandfather clock to be heard from the lengthy corridor – a family relic – had creeped him out when he was smaller. The only meal the Malfoy family had together every day was diner and even then his father had always been more interested in his academic results than in what he had done for the day, if he had learned something interesting, what he liked the most to study, if he had made friends...

His mother had been more caring but she also seemed to be always busy attending _soirees_ and participating in important social events. Publicizing the name of the family.

And there was Draco who had always been alone. He had stopped feeling sad about it though. If he complained to his father about it, he would always scold his nine year old self for acting spoiled and belittling the Malfoy name with his tantrums.

"_Besides, you're always surrounded by your tutors. Stop being overly dramatic, it's unbecoming of an heir of your status."_

Even to this day he would remember his father's lectures, word by word. Draco sighed. That was the past. He didn't feel alone now. Loneliness was a part of him already. At Hogwarts, he had no real friends or anyone he could confide in. That was the thing which he had secretly envied Potter for in his first years.

An epiphany hit him like a slap on the face. That had been the reason he had openly bullied Potter. He thought that making him look lame in front of his peers would turn him unpopular but it had seemed to fuel his friends' feelings for him. Always the martyr.

Deep down, he knew he would never forge a relationship as strong as the Gryffindor _trio_ after he was rejected in the first year.

Well, he couldn't blame Potter, not really. But he couldn't blame himself entirely either. He had always been instructed to think of others as inferiors, lesser people. He had never been guided or taught how to form a friendship for such values did not truly exist in Luscius' eyes. He had only been tutored on how to approach possible future allies and enemies and his teachers had always placed an emphasis that everyone had a _price_.

Now, when he looked at himself he guessed he might know a lot about being diplomatic but he didn't know much about his true character other than being sarcastic and a bully. That's what he was. A _bully_. He knew more about other people than about his own character.

It might have gotten lost a few year back, as what had been the start of his own personality was destroyed and moulded into what his private tutors thought would 'suit him best in his future'.

He placed the plate aside and ordered the house-elf to bring the dessert. Sweets had always made him feel a bit better.

Just as he was about to take a much wanted bite out of the lemon-filled chocolate covered cake, someone had to interrupt him.

"It's time for you training."

Draco frowned but nonetheless took the bite before getting up from his seat and walking out of the dining room, past Lector, to the training room.

The two of them stood opposite of each other.

"We will repeat the same exercise from earlier. Now, focus on the light..."

"No." Draco looked the vampire straight into those hazel orbs which narrowed at his interjection.

"Excuse me?" The tone was cold, colder than usual. Lector's voice had always been void of any emotion. He frequently spoke without turn-arounds or flourishments.

"It's simple," Draco started, always keeping a check on the vampire in case he felt like cursing him for his impertinence "if you tell me what I am entitled to know about myself then we can proceed with the lesson. I will not stay in the dark about things which concern me."

His determination didn't waver under Lector's unresponsive expression.

"If the Dark lord, _**our**_ Lord deems it necessary for you to be informed of anything, then I will. Otherwise, I will obey and not act on my own judgment, something you need to learn. The whole ordeal you've placed yourself into was your own doing. You acted by yourself without consulting your Lord first. You don't have the right to demand anything. Not only you burdened others, you have also defiled your Lord's plans which is an even greater offense. Now-"

Oh no, Draco couldn't stay put after hearing that.

"Oh _yes_, I've burdened you extremely, especially when I had to be protected by you- _oh wait_, never mind. I recall me having protected myself... otherwise I would have been dead. And your 'rescue' mission would have been pointless. I wonder how your Lord would have reacted to you failing your mission." He knew he was pushing it, sarcasm didn't seem to appeal to the vampire. That's why he had been ready.

"_Deprimo."_

"_Protego_!" Draco's shield absorbed the offensive spell rather weakly.

His magic appeared harder to cast than before and he understood the reason was his broken wand.

His reaction was on time but his wand didn't cooperate with him anymore, small sparks jumping out of its fracture and burning his hand, making Draco hiss.

"_Legillimens_."

His shield had been down and he hadn't expected such onslaught from Lector. His last thought before the spell had hit him was _why_ he had used a mind reading spell.

He was seeing the same memories Lector did and it looked like a fast forwarded movie with scattered scenes until it slowed down and stopped on a particular memory he wasn't fond of remembering.

_Draco had been four at the time. His younger self was holding a white unicorn toy which he always slept with. He was standing in the dark and intimidating large corridor of the main hall of the Manor. He was outside his bedroom, he noticed. It was night-time. He had been woken up by a nightmare of a boggart in his closet but he had been too afraid to open it to check. So his small feet had led him there, near mommy's bedroom. He sniffled and wiped his nose on his unicorn. It was from the cold, he denied stubbornly. He stared at the dark tall door, hoping mommy would somehow know he was there and would go and check his closet and under his bed but mommy didn't come out. He couldn't knock, dad had said before that he shouldn't be weak and would be punished for it. So he waited outside their door. Maybe she would come out._

The memory vanished and moved automatically to another. Draco's head hurt.

_Now it was daylight and he always enjoyed times like these where he would sit for breakfast with both his parents, even though they didn't talk much... but he was happy. He kicked his feet under the chair. It was Sunday and mommy and dad did things that adults did. His father read a newspaper and his mother a magazine. He sat on a chair in the middle of the table, both his parents on opposite ends. He wasn't close to them but at least he was in the middle. He had brought his unicorn and placed it on the table. He remembered being so happy the day he got it. He couldn't remember his name, but he had given it to him on his fourth birthday and said it represented eter-ether...etereal... eternal life! Draco didn't understand what it meant but he found the toy very fluffy. He smiled as he remembered the new word, proud of himself. _

"_Narcissa, I've told you not to allow Draco to cling onto objects. He will create an unhealthy bond with them. It is not good for his development. I don't know why you got him _that_. You should have bought him a book instead, wouldn't it have been useful at least?" _

"_I am aware of your opinions and I've told you before I didn't get him that toy. And he is only a child, Lucius. These things are normal for his age-" _

"_We are not raising him to be __**normal**__, 'Cissy. He will be our Lord's most trusted servant and he will need to serve him correctly. Do you wish for your son to fail because he wasn't prepared as a result of him having wasted time on trivial play and... silly things?" _

_Draco didn't fully understand the big complicated sentences his parents spoke but he didn't like how the air around them changed and suffocated him. It didn't make him feel happy. _

_Draco looked back and forth from mommy to dad. He wanted to tell them not to fight but he was afraid of angering his dad more. He always seemed so angry... _

"_Draco, give me the toy." _

_Oh! Dad would play with him? A huge smile overtook his expression, his cheeks glinting in the morning light. Dad had never ever played with him! He grabbed his unicorn and got out of his seat, running excitedly to him. He placed his unicorn in dad's outstretched hand. Yay! He was going to play with him. Giddiness bubbled in his small chest. He was so happy- _

_Draco's smile faltered when dad had lifted his wand and his unicorn disappeared. Strange cotton fluff floated in the air and fell at his little feet. As he stared down at the stuffing, he then understood what dad had done and it hurt more than the few times he got slapped for being bad. But why? He looked up with wet eyes at his dad, the tears blurring his vision. He wanted an explanation but dad didn't even look at him. He was reading his newspaper again. _

"_Sit and finish eating." _

Draco regained his senses and pushed Lector out of his mind. He had allowed him to see too much already but he had wanted to look at those memories which he hadn't revived in years.

His consciousness returned to his surroundings and Draco regained his senses. He was breathing deeply and he didn't know why. There was a strange feeling in his chest.

Lector was... Draco's eyes focused further ahead and surprise etched on his face at seeing the unmoving form on the opposite end of the room. Draco didn't understand what he saw. His breathing returned to normal but he felt stifled as he stared at the slumped body against the wall, blood trail indicating there had been an impact which had injured Lector's head and he had slid down on the wall as he lost consciousness.

His palms were clenched in anticipation as he neared the eerily still vampire. Had he somehow literally «projected» the older man outside his mind?

Draco looked for any sign of life when he was close enough to the figure and released a sigh he had been holding when he noticed the relatively ragged, but still there, breathing. He kneeled near the unconscious man and decided better not to touch him. He wasn't sure if he should risk a backlash.

So he did what he thought best; he cast a diagnosis spell to check for any the severity of his injuries but his wand retaliated and he immediately dropped it while wincing at the burn on his hand, blisters and bleeding cuts already forming on his right palm.

Well... it had served him quite well until then. He had been impressed it had lasted so long after it was broken. Now he really needed a new one.

Draco pondered for a bit and decided to pocket the rest of his wand just in case Olivander had a twin... although he very much doubted so, after all, each wand was a creation of its own and there was none identical to the other. Not even Voldemort's to Harry, which shared the same core apparently.

He didn't know what to do now... They didn't have an infirmary and his father was on a long term mission, his mother at this time was entertaining in other houses and him summoning the family doctor would require him sending a hand written request and wait for an owl to deliver it, only then to use the floo to communicate through fireplaces.

Frustrated, he admitted ashamedly that the muggle telephone invention was rather useful. He sighed, aggravated at his own powerlessness. If only he had a working wand he could compensate for this event.

And there was Voldemort... Draco shuddered. Absolutely no way. He wouldn't go to _Him_. Not for any type of help. It wasn't because he feared him... actually, yes, it was. That... man was unpredictable and owing a favour to the Dark Lord meant his life was bound by _His_ shackles for eternity. Besides, he wouldn't know if he would get punished for this. Although, it hadn't been his fault entirely! Yet, this was his servant and he was aware of Voldemort punishing disputes between his followers.

Draco shook his head. Now was not to time to be so self-absorbed. Blood started to lazily pool around the floor near Lector's back. Draco grew more tense and agitated by the minute.

"Lector?" He tried. Maybe he could use Lector's wand... He just hoped he wouldn't mind him saving his life with his wand. Well, saving his life was a bit dramatic, he admited.

"Can you hear me?" He licked his lips in anticipation as he slowly reached for the wand in Lector's left hand. There was no response from him; hopefully that meant he wasn't going to jump awake any time soon. Going against his initial reasoning, Draco tried to lessen the fierce grip on the wand.

He managed to gently pry two fingers open and just as he was about to slide the wand out of his hand, bright fluorescent yellow eyes snapped open and startled Draco out of his skin and he instantly released the now awaken vampire's fist. Extremely sharp teeth frightened Draco to move in a blink of an eye but the creature, in a blur of motion, grabbed Draco's hair and forced his knees down, the impact making him grimace in pain. With continuous speed light, his head was yanked to the side, exposing his neck to the terrifying vision of a _starved_ vampire.

Draco brought his own hands on top of the one restraining him to his kneeling position, futilely attempting to pry it open. He couldn't remove his gaze from the vampire who was staring at his neck as if he were a piece of _meat_ to a starved wolf. And he guessed he was.

"L-Lector! Get a hold of yourself!" He stammered between clenched teeth. Trying to bring a creature into their senses seemed ineffective. He wasn't even listening!

Draco's mouth opened involuntarily in a scream for help when the vampire's frightening teeth descended upon him but he didn't have time to make a sound before said vampire flew to the side, far away from the periphery of his vision, making Draco wince in pain as a few strands of his hair were ripped from his scalp.

Lector began screaming in a guttural inhumane sound as he writhed on the floor and clawed at it, the influence of an unknown curse to him. Draco's head snapped to the doorway and his stomach dropped when the person who had saved him and now owed a wizard's debt to was none other than Voldemort.

* * *

Voldemort had been disturbed by a feeling he wasn't used to having. A small trepidation rocked his chair and tingled his insides, disturbing his work. He had been writing a letter to the Ministry where he went by as Thomas Dolosus. He had concisely explained his interest in the new position as secretary to the Minister and had attached various references along, with subtle nonsensical praises to Fudge which he knew would reel the corrupted man into his talk.

He had been creating an identity with the aid of Lucius who had gone to the Ministry and other locations to plant the necessary 'evidence' of his identity in case someone wanted to verify his existence. There would be no flaws allowed on Lucius' side and he had made that _extremely _clear to the man.

Yet, just as he was about to sign his impeccable letter and send it off to Fudge, Voldemort's desk had trembled and a blotch of ink stained his now not-so-impeccable cursive.

Fury overtook him. He slammed his quill on the wooden surface before rising from his desk. Nagini hissed, annoyed at the disturbance which rose her up from her sleep.

He looked at his snake, slightly amused at her cursing and fumbling to find a better suited position near the constantly burning fireplace.

Voldemort's sense prickled. That had been magic he had felt... he inhaled deeply the raw power of it. It could only belong to one person... _Draco_.

It had burned his lungs in an enjoyable way. He could distinguish the emotions of desperation, anger and shame in that magical outburst.

Voldemort's eyes narrowed. What had spurred the boy's negative emotions on?

He would find out.

* * *

Draco was paralyzed to his spot. He wouldn't dare move, not when the Dark Lord himself exuded such malevolent aura. He visibly flinched when Voldemort neared him, his magic at that proximity felt like tiny needles poking him all over his body. For one thing he was glad though; the furious burgundy eyes weren't directed at him, but past his head, at the vampire writhing and moaning in pain on the floor a good distance from Draco.

Although it had been brief, Draco's hair stood on edge at the eyes scanning him quickly before they landed on his, in search for any apparent injuries.

Even through his fear, Draco wondered why would Voldemort care about his well-being? It didn't make sense to him.

"Reduced to your lowest form, aren't you Lector? _Pathetic_." Draco was glad he wasn't the target of Voldemort's anger. His low hiss sounded quite intimidating.

"M-my Lord, plea-se!" Lector gasped in pain. The curse hadn't been lifted since the moment it had been casted. Draco's intellectual streak was curious to know what type of curse it was but his logical voice informed him that now wasn't the most appropriate moment to learn what Voldemort's nonverbal spell work consisted of.

'_Continue like that and you might just find out soon',_ he scolded himself.

Draco watched the rather horrific scene unfold itself before his eyes. Voldemort stood, a constant air of authority and silent death promise, the imposing aura encasing Draco's attention constantly. _He_ was few steps away from Lector, who Draco couldn't help but look on with a note of fascination and horror as he seemed to swap between a human and a beastly vampire form, sharp claws and bright yellow eyes flickering rapidly, the facial expression changing between an animalistic snarl to pain-filled human-like features over and over.

"You're losing control, _vampire_. If you can't contain your beast, I will."

Draco shuddered at the cold tone of Voldemort's threat.

"No, pl-_please_, m-my Lord- _**argh**_! I can, I can-!"

Voldemort lifted the curse then, which Draco thought looked rather like _cruciatus_ but the foul odour of burned flesh filled the room and he crinkled his nose in disgust. Voldemort seemed completely unfazed by it.

Draco wasn't one who enjoyed such sadistic punishments. He watched with some pity as Lector's trembling arms reached for Voldemort's robes and kissed them, his head lowered in absolute submission. Draco hadn't known the vampire for long but seeing him, a vampir, a creature feared more than werewolves in such a pitiful state which contrasted so much with his usually stoic demeanour made Draco truly understand just what type of power Voldemort had over others. The dark side, _Voldemort's side_ had important dominant allies but _He_ seemed to always manage to make them appear no one at his feet.

Draco starred at Voldemort's back. This man was truly frightening... and to think he had most likely created a horcrux...!

_Insane._

Draco didn't stare long for the fear of Voldemort becoming aware of it.

'_How can anyone stand a chance...? Doesn't Dumbledore see that it is a suicide mission to place someone like Potter against _Him_ when not even Dumbledore himself can defeat him for certain? Is Dumbledore even aware Voldemort has a horcrux?'_

"I leave you a few hours with a child" Draco frowned at the title "and you attack your own student? You are truly a disappointment, Lector... I had thought that you being the leader of your own clan would have placed you above other magical _creatures_." From the way Lector shifted, Draco felt that the term had bothered the vampire but he hadn't dared voice it. "Yet, you are like the rest. Maybe I should cage you since you can't control yourself."

Dull yellow eyes snapped up, pleadingly. "No! I beg you, my Lord! It-it will not happen again. I will rather take my own life than to displease you." Lector said reverently.

Draco's eyebrows rose at the fervour in his voice. He really sounded sincere. He noticed that all that time he had been stupidly kneeling on the floor. Draco lifted himself and straightened his back. He did this slowly, not wanting to attract attention to himself.

"**Silence**."

An icy chill ran through his body and he could have sworn the room had physically darkened with Voldemort's rage.

"You will spend a month with the recruits and go on any mission they will order you to. _Get out of my sight_."

Lector looked hurt and ashamed for being displaced into such low ranking but he disappeared swiftly after uttering numerous more apologies to his Lord.

Draco, on one side wished he hadn't left because now he was alone with Voldemort... in the same room, in the same house. He didn't find it a good idea to be the Dark Lord's centre of attention, not when he could visibly notice the swirls of menacing magic coiling around his dangerous form.

His heart skipped a beat when said wizard turned to stare at him, as if he already had been deciphered and knew what he had been thinking. A cruel smirk confirmed his thoughts.

"You seem to have forgotten that I do not need to bypass your _Oclummency_ shield to know what's in your mind."

... How? How could Voldemort do that? He hadn't heard of any spell, trick or method which allowed another wizard to access someone's thoughts.

"You will not find it on any book. This is one of my lesser creations."

Draco's eyes widened. Just exactly _how_ powerful was He, exactly?

"What were you doing, not fighting back? How incompetent can you be that you would let yourself get foolishly killed by a _creature_ in your own house?"

Voldemort was walking toward him with deliberate slow steps and Draco unconsciously retreated.

"M-my wand is broken... sir." Draco gulped and mentally slapped himself. '_Sir? SIR? Who the hell did he think he was addressing? He was lucky he hadn't already been cursed for his disrespect!_'

Draco panicked inside. His back had hit a wall. He looked around and saw the grand doorway a good steps away from his left. Though, it wasn't as if he was stupid enough to make a run for it. -_Shit. When had Voldemort gotten that close?_

There was not even a foot distance between them and Draco felt stifled by the dark magic surrounding him at that proximity. It was... intoxicating, he noted surprisingly as it filled his lungs. It wasn't lashing out like before, it reached and seemed to engulf him in a type of warmth which he found disturbingly familiar but wasn't sure as to why. He had a strange sense of _déjà-vu._

Voldemort had stopped a few steps away from him and his expression was undecipherable. _His_ magic touched him, he could literally feel it on his skin and Draco's eyes closed on their own accord as the unbidden power travelled through him. He inhaled deeply when his own magic rose out of him in an abrupt motion for Voldemort's. It left him breathless.

Draco's mind processed this reaction. Could this be because he had cast the _killing curse_, supposedly the darkest of all spells? Was that the reason he reacted to Voldemort this way, the embodiment of dark magic?

He unconsciously shivered at the freezing sensation that travelled up his body as his own magic lunged forward, but Voldemort's magic pressed further into him and the opposite, burning sensation overtook him.

Draco's magic intertwined with Voldemort's, the mixture dancing around the two of them.

"Careful, child. Some might consider it disrespectful, disloyal even..." Draco's eyes snapped open at Voldemort's silky tone. He had to get used to this change; he always expected high pitched hisses to threaten him.

_It could be disrespectful?_ But he couldn't control his magic, it was reacting to _His_ on its own, it hadn't been his choice, he hadn't known it would be like that, he hadn't felt this before anywhere-

"... for you not addressing me properly." Voldemort's smirk came back full force, mocking him.

Draco's wand hand twitched in annoyance. He had been inside his head again!

"I have no use for an unarmed wizard who cannot even take care of himself." Voldemort took a few steps back from him and Draco felt the odd loss of His magic.

"Report to me immediately after you've acquired a new wand. Don't waste time." With a pointed look, Voldemort turned and walked away.

Draco didn't release the breath he didn't know he had been holding until he felt Voldemort was far away from the training room. So he had been ordered to go buy a wand for himself... He checked the time on the antique Grandfather clock in the hallway, since he couldn't cast a _tempus. _It was quarter to four in the afternoon. Olivander's would still be open.


	17. A new wand

**_V_**oldemort sat in his study. He exhaled deeply. Yes, he had been mistaken about the boy. His magic was _dead_ upon the first contact but as soon as it has touched his, they danced and it burned at his own as if responding to a challenge. The things ordinary wizards weren't aware of... Dumbledore was a fool, a prejudiced old man, even in his prime time he had when he had been only a teacher in Hogwarts. He had hated his younger-self even before the suspicions of him having murdered Myrtle, that useless girl.

He had not as much as glanced in his direction before the news of a dead student had spread out. After it, he had been on Dumbledore's radar, constantly victim of accusatory glares. Well, the old man _had been right_.

And yet, after his graduation, the Slytherins had always been despised by Albus, unconditionally. Of course, anything associated to his person, Albus had always despised.

Because of this, he would never understand the boy as he did, he would never be able to see his power. He was always too concerned in raising a suicidal soldier out of Potter who had survived only because of his mother's magic, not his own.

Yes, he was aware of Potter being one of his horcruxes. What else could be so glaringly obvious? The connection between their minds – which he now controlled – and his ability to speak _Parseltongue_ – which he had been informed by Snape. It was all interconnected with his death, which had been a peculiar scenario. He suspected he had somehow managed to transfer part of his soul onto the toddler. He had felt the similar pain of splitting one's soul after the _killing curse_ had fired back onto him.

Not only that, he could sense his own horcruxes and during last year's summer, at his wretched father's graveyard his suspicions had been confirmed. Harry Potter was his horcrux.

The boy would die and he would retrieve the part of his soul which rightfully belonged to him.

* * *

Draco hated how he couldn't apparated until after two more year; such useless waiting...! Even muggles could drive those _metal cans _earlier! Although, he wasn't supposed to know that...

He had arrived in Diagon Alley through _floo_ powder and he dusted his robes off but ended up using a _Scorgify_ anyway. His usual scowl was in place, least people think they could approach him and chit-chat if they somehow knew him. He was part of an influential pureblood family, after all.

A red headed girl who appeared a few years older turned to smile at him. She had just _flooed_ next to him. His scowl deepened when she reminded him of Weasley, even though they weren't related.

Couldn't people get a hint...?

Shrugging off that little downside, Draco strolled through the crowds with a slight optimism in his step, now that he thought about being somewhere away from the Manor. Away from _Him_. He was also not pressed for time, not really. Voldemort hadn't specified when he was to report to him. Other than his usual curfew at 7 p.m., he had nothing to worry about. No one to be aware off.

_Aah_...! Now he felt better. He glanced t his watch. It was exactly 4:03 in the afternoon. Good. He had at least two hours and a half and he intended to most of that time doing whatever he pleased. He wouldn't expect _Olivander's_ to take more than ten minutes... Even the first time, at the start of his first year he had been serviced quickly, rather too quickly. His father had barged into the place as if he owned it – which he probably could if he wished – and demanded that his son get the best of the best. Olivander had looked rather offended and had weakly pointed out that it was the wand that chose the wizard, not the opposite. Of course, that hadn't deterred his father from rejecting on sight a few wands he had deemed worthless at first glance. The first Draco had touched had been immediately purchased.

Looking back at those moments, Draco remembered his father patting his shoulder while reassuring him he would get a wand fit for a serious wizard. Draco smirked and shook his head. He wondered if Olivander would recall the whole episode, it had been a rather peculiar one.

Draco stopped in front of the shop which was in need of a new name sign and breathed in the cold air of the end of January. He could see through the shop's windows that the store was void of any costumers. Good, he didn't want to wait. He had some things which he wanted to research in some book stores.

The bell chided when he stepped in and Olivander, who seemed impossibly older, stepped behind the counter and greeted him with a worn smile.

"Ah, Mr. Draco Malfoy" he admitted he was thoroughly impressed by his memory "I take your wand is no longer servicing you?"

Draco's eyebrows shot up. How could he know? He could have brought it for a buff... His eyes narrowed suspiciously and the elder man seemed to sense his hostility.

"No need to alarm yourself, Mr. Malfoy, I am actually surprised you hadn't come sooner."

And now he was even more suspicious.

"When you walked away with that ten inch unicorn hair and hawthorn wood, unsure I was, indeed I was... It has responded to you so far because it was a reasonably pliant wand, quite flexible. But what could I have done at your father's insistence?" Olivander sighed.

Draco wanted to copy him. That man spoke in riddles. "How would you know that my wand is broken?"

"Well," he smiled at him, knowingly "I know when a wizard is not well suited for a wand and when that happens – which could have been perfectly avoidable if not for Mr. Malfoy – the wand won't respond to the wizard as it should. And as I'm sure the vast curriculum at Hogwarts has sadly diminished, more young wizards and witches today wield inappropriate wand, because they don't know how to discern on this matter. But I assure you, it is of a very small demographic still. Something along 2 or 3 in a million."

There was a possibility that his wand had not been the best one for him...? He wasn't sure he could grasp that notion. It had been his first wand and with it he had cast his first _wingardium leviosa_; he was rather attached to its memories.

"Now, let me see it." Olivander gestured with his hands for Draco to approach the counter. He unpocketed his broken wand and placed it under the old wizard's inspecting gaze. He had picked it up with the utmost care and brought it near his eyes. "_Hmmm_. And how did this happen?"

"I stepped on it." Draco supplied promptly. He wasn't about to let any information spill to the old man... although he seemed rather harmless.

"Really? Interesting..." he looked at Draco with renewed interest from behind his glasses.

Now he felt uncomfortable. "What do you mean? He inquired rather politely. He thought good manners would appease more to the elder man better than his father's attitude.

"You see, when a wizard uses a wand he is not actually using the object to _create_ magic, but to conduct it. This same object is nothing but a stick in a muggle's hands. But to us wizards, it acts like a conductor which amplifies our magic – such a pity Albus decided to remove this subject from the curriculum, it is very fascinating –"

Draco struggled with his patience.

"See, if you have a bad conductor, your magic is not going to work very well now, is it? Every magical core has a signature which is different from each other – and this is a most interesting part – so it is necessary for each wizard to have an appropriate wand for their own signature, else their spell casting is greatly impoverished and even unstable. I had expected for your magic to have destroyed the wand during the casting of a more complex spell but you told me it broke to mechanical accidents rather than magical..." Olivander trailed off as he re-inspected the wand as if he couldn't believe him, perhaps hoping to find any physical evidence which corroborated his wishes.

Under his breath, the elder man commented what a fine wand it had been and how it had truly kept to its flexibility.

"Well, give me a moment, will you? I'll fetch a wand appropriate for you." With a very few appreciated wink, the shop owner disappeared behind duty shelves.

Draco huffed. So his wand wasn't supposed to have been his after all this time? Now he was confused and experienced a moment of cognitive dissonance.

What was he supposed to think?

Olivander appeared behind the counter once again with a single dark red box. Notably, Draco found this strange. As if he had read his mind, Olivander replied.

"This was the first your father rejected but I kept it for when the occasion arrived. Come on, pick it up. Try it." Olivander stared and followed his every movement rather intently. Draco opened the box and stared at a smooth burgundy coloured wood. It almost shone in the light from how well crafted it was. Yes, the wand was rather red, perhaps what Lucius hadn't liked. Everything associated to Gryffindor and the Weasley family was banned. Draco mentally rolled his eyes.

It was slightly shorter and wider than his first one. It would be more practical to hide that way. His 10 inch wand had been an annoyance to hide in his robes.

Draco noticed he was nervous, as if it had been the first time he had arrived in that shop. He picked it up, he rather not dwell on emotions.

An electrical surge made him jump and almost drop his wand in shock. _'What was that?'_ His magic was shifting and there was a brief uncomfortable sensation as if he was being burned from the inside, knots twisting in his belly before they dispersed and spread throughout his whole body. The hairs on his skin stood all on edge. He felt electrified.

So **this** was magic. His magic. How could he have missed this, not being aware of its presence like now?

"Go on, cast something." Olivander continued to stare at him intently and Draco wasn't sure the man was aware of what had happened to him. His magic was ready at his hand, a small command and it would spring into action through his wand. _His wand_.

Draco hadn't felt this eager since the time at the Great Hall with the Sorting Hat. He looked around excitedly, and grasped onto that _giddy_ feeling. And he risked it.

"_Expecto Patronum!_" His voice didn't waver. An intense white light shot from his wand, obfuscating the whole, wand boxes rattling with the force of his spell.

Draco struggled to keep his eyes open and a fully formed Peruvian Vipertooth Dragon stood proudly before him, the details on his scales outlined even in the dim store.

Draco looked at his Patronus form, astonished. He hadn't expect anything to happen – as he had tried countless ties in Hogwarts – maybe a tiny string of light to emanate from the tip and disappear quickly, but certainly not _this_. The dragon, the size of two humans, bowed to him, lowering itself from its front legs waiting for his command.

Draco stared dumbfounded for a little longer before he flicked his wrist and his Patronus returned to his wand. He could _feel_ power now. Hefeel his magic, thrumming beneath his fingers, ready to be used yet again.

Olivander's expression hadn't been less intense than his when he turned to pay the man.

"This wand is _extremely_ special. It is the only know to have been crafted with the single hair ever captured from the end of the tail of a _Sphinx_."

Draco stared oddly at Olivander. "Who was lunatic enough to risk that?"

The elder man replied with a nostalgic smile. "I am not sure. This single ingredient was what motivated me in my youth to pursue a career as a wand maker. I dreamed of one day being able to craft a wand which could hold the magical properties of this ingredient. And it seemed to only pair well with Cedar wood, as you can see."

"If you don't know who got it, how did you find it?" That was too suspicious.

"It's been in the family vault for a long, long time, I presume. It was in a box which carried the single hair. Of course, I couldn't risk crafting the wrong wand and lose the ingredient. I had to wait until I was sure of what I was doing."

"I see..."

"It is truly a remarkable wand. It will only serve the bearer who has an unwavering determination and upon challenge will be a frightening adversary. My father would always mention how you can never fool a cedar carrier. I suppose the Sphinx's hair agreed with this wood."

Draco, who was still feeling numb and exhilarated at the same time, thanked Olivander and left his store after paying. Now that he was outside in the cold air, he regained his composure.

He couldn't believe what a difference a matching wand made... He had always thought it normal to struggle with spells, like his classmates, that the repetition and failures were normal processes for a wizard but now... Draco stared at his new – no, his _true_ wand. Now, he wasn't sure what to believe anymore. His teachers had always insisted that his struggles were completely normal.

He doubted any of them had actually bothered to really help and teach him, else they would have noticed something about him was wrong, no? How could he, an 11 year old be aware of such a complex notion as magic when it wasn't even well discussed in their classes? Most of their time they transfigured themselves into parrots... repeating, copying, repeating spell incantations and wand movements over and over again.

He glanced at his watch. Olivander had taken him 30 minutes but they had been more than worth it. Draco decided he would place the horcrux research aside for a while in favour of purchasing as many advanced spell books as he could.

He had decided to acquire advanced spell work for the next years also. He couldn't wait to try them when he was in the wards of his house.

Anger fuelled him to learn. How dare his father deny him a proper wand all those years simply because if had been _red_? The man wouldn't even know the true value of a wand if he wasn't even going to give it a chance. Of course, wasn't that how he approached him also? He always underestimated him and wouldn't take him seriously.

It didn't matter. He wasn't seeking his approval anymore. Gone were those days. And gone was that part of him too.

* * *

As soon as he had stepped through the grand doors of the Manor, he didn't even have time to remove his scarf and overcoat before he was embraced fiercely by none other than his aunt, Bellatrix Lestrange.

"_Drakey_, my dearest nephew! 'Cissy told me all about it. I will hex them into insanity, those filthy disgusting poor excuse of shi-"

"They're all dead, aunt." Draco interjected from between her breasts. He wished she wouldn't tighten her grip around him like that; his wound on his arm had reopened.

She had to let him go after he protested against the pain. She was then staring at him with a rather maniacal grin. Draco noticed his mother's presence a few steps behind Bellatrix.

"You did?" She seemed very eager to hear his answer.

Draco shrugged. "One."

Her grin widened impossibly more and her eyes sparkled in a way it made Draco regret his honesty.

"How wonderful! My baby nephew is not longer a baby! You hear that 'Cissy? Drakey's first kill! It feels as if it was yesterday when you were only a snivelling peanut-sized brat and now look at you! You've grown up so quickly..." Bellatrix sighed nostalgically.

Draco noticed his mother's forced smile. She, on the other hand, didn't seem to be as comfortable with the notion of him having killed.

He didn't have any regrets or guilt. Vrudel had deserved it.

"Oh my, I wonder if our Lord knows about this joyous news? I have to tell him right now, imagine how overjoyed he will be!"

"No" Bellatrix seemed to falter "there's no need to... _bother_ him with such unimportant matters" Draco fixed his gaze on his aunt, his voice harsher than he intended to "plus, I'm sure the Dark Lord knows about it already, he is the _Dark Lord_ after all. He might find it offensive for you to assume he wouldn't know, don't you agree, aunt Bellatrix?" He pressed on and saw doubt flicker through her eyes. Draco didn't want Voldemort to know more things about him. He hadn't forgotten how _He_ had come to learn about him having cast the _Cruciatus_ curse.

Information like hat, Voldemort was bound to use it against him one day and that meant more control over him. And that life debt he owed him already... Draco visibly shuddered.

His aunt had confused it with him being cold and told him to take a warm shower so he wouldn't get sick. He used that excuse to go to his bedroom. Along the way, he had noticed various Death eaters going about the manor. _Must be time for a meeting_. But his father was still nowhere to be seen. He wasn't worried, his mother was quite serene, which meant all was well.

He locked the door.

He frowned at the lack of privacy in his own house. There were too many people who didn't belong there.

Draco unpocketed his new wand. No – this was his only meant to be wand. Magic rushed to its tip, tempting him to use it. He couldn't resist that flighty feeling in his stomach at the prospect of casting another Patronus to see if it hadn't been a fluke.

He tried to remember something happy, some memory of great importance... And as he struggled to search, Draco realized something about his life. There hadn't been a lot of moments when he had been truly happy. He had a house, regular meals, an important last name, but none of that really made him feel any joy.

Frustrated with himself, Draco gave up. He changed his clothes and washed himself before heading downstairs for diner. It was 7:30 p.m. and the table should have been ready.

As he went downstairs, he was glad to notice that the Death Eaters had gone somewhere out of his sight. Finally, some quiet. They could be quite rowdy and 'chattery'.

His mother was the only one at the table and she seemed to have waited for him to take a seat.

"How is your shoulder feeling, Draco?"

The soup had been served.

"Recovering rather well, mother. How is father?"

"He will be returning in a few days. Our Lord has assigned him a rather complex mission, an honour to our family."

Draco stared at his mother who ate her soup daintily. There it was again. That blind loyalty they all had. Why? What for? What did they gain out of it? Draco's grip on his spoon tightened. What had the Malfoy family gained out of it? Nothing! Only troubles and suspicious glances from other wizards, including Dumbledore who hadn't even acknowledged his existence even once!

Now they had to place any of their resources at Voldemort's disposal. Fury ran through his veins. He didn't like it; submitting to someone like that, throwing your dignity and pride away in order to please a single man. Draco couldn't help himself.

"Why do you do that?"

His mother seemed to notice then the tension in his posture. "Do what, Draco?"

"Worship him like that! What do you gain from it? I thought our family was all about dignity and superiority." He interjected quickly. His tone was harsh and dry.

His mother's eyes narrowed but she still took her time to settle her silverware and use her cloth napkin gracefully, before she answered without looking at him. What she said next infuriated him.

"You are too young to understand the politics of this world, Draco. The Dark Lord will benefit our family greatly, you need to be aware of this. While-"

"Oh _right_! Like he has so far, right? Stop me when I've enumerated the enormous list of benefits his Lordship has showered us with so far!" His tone dripped with sarcasm.

Narcissa stared at him with an annoyed edge at his manners for having interrupted her and for his way of speaking. It didn't faze Draco a bit. He needed an explanation, he deserved one, two, as many as he wanted! After all, he was expected to serve the Dark Lord too. He had been _born_ for that.

A pang ran through his chest at that notion. He was created to be a pawn. Could his mother agree to that so easily?

"It was an honour to our house when your grandfather, Abraxas, was between the first Death Eaters in existence. Our family has always served the Dark Lord faithfully and always in the best ranks. That is more than over ninety percent of all followers could ever dream of. You are not going to bring this family down, Draco! The Dark Lord was very kind not to punish you for what you did to the Parkinson family. Look at yourself. I don't even recognize you anymore! What's gotten into you? Could it be the Potter boy? Did he place any weird concepts in your head? You seemed to innately like our Lord when you were small!"

Draco stiffened. "What did you say?" He spoke lowly.

"Don't be so stubborn, Draco. I know adolescence can be hard-"

"No, what did you say after?"

Narcissa contemplated.

"You said I have met Vol- the Dark Lord when I was younger?"

"Of course, my dear. It is customary for every high ranking Death eater to present their firstborn to our Lord when they are born but he was rather taken with you. I could even say he favoured you but Lucius will say otherwise. I know, though. He always looked at you as if you were special and you in return seemed to cry when you were taken out of his hands."

Those must have been tears of joy. "Stop."

No, it wasn't possible. Well, he wouldn't be able to remember that. He had been much too young to remember anything at all. But he knew she was trying to convince him to her side, he knew that. Voldemort had been interested in him as a servant.

"I don't want to listen to this anymore. It changes nothing, me knowing this. I still stand my case. I will not obey and follow quietly, like you and father so cowardly do." He rose from the table.

"Draco! Don't be childish! What else will you do with your future? Serve _Albus Dumbledore_?" his mother uncharacteristically frowned.

Draco's featured were contorted in disgust. Serve Dumbledore? That hypocritical, manipulative, bigoted old man? Preposterous!

"I need not to serve anyone, but my own person."

His back was already turned to his mother as he walked away.

"Don't be foolish, Draco! There will be a war and there's nothing to prevent that. You have to choose a side, you cannot be neutral. If you don't serve the Dark Lord then you are against him!" Her voice softened after. "You will lose everything that way, even your life..."

He didn't turn around. He stopped for a while in his steps, undecided what to say. But he took off without a word.

He would go into hiding if he needed. He found it then much more preferable to kissing _His_ robes and bowing down to Him just to survive. Draco wouldn't need to. He would study, learn advanced and powerful spells. He would take care of himself. This was not his war and it shouldn't involve him.

"Snape." He blinked out of his thoughts at the sight of his godfather.

"Draco. I've heard about the events. How are you?" Snape's hair and nails were tainted by potion brewing as always.

"I'm fine. It's unusual to see you here at this hour, especially with the rumours of the Dark Lord's return. I'm surprised Dumbledore allowed you out of the castle at this hour..." Draco glanced at his godfather's smudged robes.

"Dumbledore knows what he thinks he knows. Now, if you excuse me, I have to go. Don't think you will be allowed to slack in your Potion classes, though. I do not give preferential treatment."

Draco smirked amusedly. That rule didn't apply if he had to go against Potter, though. Yet, Snape appeared to be loyal to the Dark cause but Draco was never sure. He was always so intriguing and complex. He wondered if even Dumbledore knew whom he truly served.

Snape's aura enveloped his back in a murky yellow, Draco noticed absentmindedly. It was rather fitting.

* * *

He sat on his bed; he couldn't sleep. It was 2 a.m. and his obsessive reading hadn't slowed down. There was so much for him to practice and memorize – although most spells he managed them on the first try – so many interesting spells, so many incantations...! He didn't think he would be able to sleep, not when his wand responded so eagerly to his commands. The rush of magic was unbelievable!

Though, he was angry that he had understood exactly how poor his and useless Hogwart's curriculum was. Teaching them jelly-leg spells and tickle charms was insulting to its students. Olivander had mentioned how changed the education system had been even since Dumbledore had stepped in power. Obviously, the old man had changed their subjects and Draco suspected Voldemort's years as a student there had influenced that, perhaps in fear of creating another Dark Lord or teaching potentially dangerous students potentially dangerous spells? Didn't that go against what Dumbledore stood for?

Equality and fairness...? Giving everyone a chance? Innocent until proven guilty? He really was a manipulative hypocrite.

"_Aer Absciuss"_

A misty gold cloud escaped his wand and Draco smirked. He knew this spell was quite adequate for a certain kind of people. That Trelawney woman was a waste of oxygen, why not save some for others?

He used a dust of wind for the counter spell and the rapidly growing fog vanished.

* * *

He was heading to the Library, intent on searching more on a dark spell he couldn't quite understand. It was described as '_fictus opinione_', its purpose wasn't shown, only the wand movement and by whom it was created. It had been on the third chapters of '_Manipulating and recreating a social image_', but it didn't speak of spell duration, consequences to the target or if it could be casted multiple times on the same person.

Knowing how vast the Malfoy Library was, he doubted he wouldn't find all the information there.

Draco wore a dark green silk house robe over his silver pyjamas. He always enjoyed the comfort and freedom that attire allowed him and at 1:07 a.m., he doubted anyone would be walking around – namely Death Eaters.

But he was proven wrong mere seconds after he had finished that thought.

As he cornered the corridor leading to his desired destination, Draco impacted with a solid obstacle in his hurry. He stepped back at the grunt. _Oh great_...

"Well, well, well... and just as I was about getting hungry."

... It was Greyback, he noticed with a scowl. The toothed sadistic grin made him resemble the beast he was even more. What was that lowlife doing in his house? Didn't they have _standards_ anymore?

"Might you go back to the forest and take care of that, Greyback. I'm afraid we don't serve dog food."

Draco's expression was passive as usual even though he felt satisfaction at the werewolf's scowl.

"I might go back to the forest with you, what you think about that, _hm_?"

The toothed smile didn't intimidate him.

"Sorry, I don't walk dogs at this hour of the night. Or ever. Now move." When Draco tried to sidestep him, Fenerir only blocked his way of passage again. Draco sighed. He wasn't afraid. His wand was in the front pocket of his robe.

Greyback whistled. "I see, growing up can be difficult."

Draco tried not to react at the eyes scanning him. "How old are you now? Thirteen?"

Draco couldn't help the nauseated grimace as he stared in disgust at the werewolf. "I'm afraid I'm too old for you paedophiliac tendencies. Now move, stop wasting my time." Draco took a step to the left but Greyback was quicker and blocked his view again.

"Careful there, Draco, werewolves aren't known for their patience. Last time I saw you, you were ten and that was six years ago. So now you must be sixteen. But you look _young enough_."

An animalistic smirk split his face into a deranged lunacy.

Draco was still 15 since his birthday had yet to come, 5th of July, but he wasn't about to correct the vile Death Eater. What was with him that attracted creatures lately? Firstly the vampire, now the werewolf...

His hand twitched for his wand when Greyback mistook his frown and silence for fear.

"Greyback, what do you think you're doing?" He recognized that smooth low tone anywhere; his godfather had made an appearance and need he say it, it had been moments away from Draco deciding he suddenly preferred to practice a particularly nasty disembowelling curse he had learned just a while ago.

Greyback seemed to stiffen at the Potion Master's arrival. Draco didn't understand what he had grumbled under his breath as he walked away without a word, purposely colliding into Draco's arm. Luckily, it hadn't been his injured one. Now he had clear view of Snape who was scowling contemplatively as he approached him.

"I'm fine." Draco interjected before Severus would make any remarks.

"I thought you knew better than to roam around when there's a meeting here. What would have happened if I-"

"This is my house. I'm not going to _hide_ in my room and cower in fear of being seen. Besides, I can take care of myself."

"God, sometimes you sound just like Potter. So full of yourself and entitled to everything!"

Draco kept his lips tightly closed so as not to say something he might regret. His godfather was perhaps the only person he respected. Snape sighed and walked away, shaking his head.

_So infuriating!_ Why didn't Voldemort get a different place to carry out all of these activities?!

Draco stormed down the hall and into the Library.

He almost jumped out of his skin when Voldemort's snake – _Nagini, was it?_ – slithered toward him from the fireplace.

"Great, just brilliant. Even the damn library is occupied by a giant man-eating snake."

He couldn't help the hiss in his voice. Nagini stopped before him and flicked her tongue to taste the air around him. Draco, weary of the reptilian's aggressive stance, reached to his pocket where his wand was. Nagini hissed threateningly as she noticed his actions and Draco faltered.

"She will bite your hand off before you can even attempt that."

Draco's eyes darted from the apprehensive snake to the origin of the voice. _**That**_ voice, which he had to get used to. He must have been quite distracted in order not to notice the oppressive aura hanging about the room. It was the aura of **power**. It was Voldemort.


	18. The colour of Magic

This must have been his lucky night, Draco mused to himself. He wasn't that curious anymore about that spell... It could wait until tomorrow.

Before he even took a first step back, Voldemort, whom he now pinpointed sitting on the chair turned to the burning fireplace, spoke authoritatively.

"**Sit.**"

Draco found himself obeying the order quicker than his pride argued on. He blamed it on Nagini's threatening stare, if snakes could do that.

"Due to recent events, you will not be attending Lector's training anymore."

Draco thought that much was obvious. He hadn't planned on doing so anyway.

He was certain he heard he smirk in Voldemort's next sentence.

"As of now, you will be answering to me directly."

_No_. He must have heard that wrong. Draco stared at the back of the chair. Voldemort had said what he thought he had heard?

The Dark Lord was going to tutor him...?

"You will be here every day at eight sharp. I do not tolerate delays and will expect nothing but your most undivided attention, is that clear? I will not hesitate to _cruccio_ you if I feel you're wasting my time. You've replaced your wand, no?"

Draco seethed in anger which he quickly kept in check. Then why did Voldemort initiate this if he didn't want to teach him? That's what it sounded like!

He knew Voldemort had taught Bellatrix and he had seen her duel... she was insanely inhibited and a fierce opponent. But Draco hadn't asked for any of what Voldemort was shoving down his throat! Why would the Dark Lord bother with him? Didn't he have things to do, muggles to torture, people to kill...?

Something like a snort startled Draco out of his internal protest but it had been more of a pronounced exhale.

_Yes, about that..._ Somehow, Voldemort was able to read his mind. He planned on knowing exactly how.

Draco didn't want to admit that a pang of uncertainty startled him when Voldemort rose from the chair.

He had felt more courageous when Voldemort had his back toward him. He also didn't want to acknowledge the tightening of his chest when burgundy eyes stared him full on, knowing too much, too aware of him, of what he had done, of what he would do.

"You came here for a reason, did you not?"

"Yes..."

Draco didn't know how he had been able not to stutter as he watched Voldemort walking toward a shelf at the back of the couch he was sitting on.

There was something strangely vulnerable about showing your back to someone. Especially since that someone could kill you in less time than you could blink. Well... Voldemort could do the same even if he was staring him dead on.

"As much _honoured_ as I would feel if your reason had been me, I doubt that is the case. Is your head overtaken by fear to the point you aren't able to remember something from less than five minutes ago?"

Voldemort had appeared in his line of sight with a large tome in his hands and walked toward a different chair near the inviting warmth of the fireplace. But this one was parallel to his seat.

Draco had almost insulted Voldemort from the indignation at being called coward.

"_Forgive me_ for not resembling Wormtail, _my Lord _" dark red eyes narrowed at his heavy sarcasm "but I can recall why I came to a Library, even though the variety of activities is so _vast_."

Draco wasn't sure why, but he just couldn't feel too afraid to speak his mind out when it came to defending himself.

"You seem to have an uncanny desire to test my patience, child."

Voldemort had opened the rather exhausting looking tome – Draco had always avoided those.

"No, not in particular. I don't really discriminate."

Voldemort looked up with a rather intense stare but Draco noticed the small tug on the corner of his mouth.

"Will your tone persist after a _cruccio_, I wonder..."

Draco closed his mouth shut and didn't dare give Voldemort a good reason to hex him on the spot. He fiddled with his house robe and lowered his gaze. He could feel the eyes burning him.

The crackling fire was the only sound in the room until Draco felt it was safe enough for him to get out of his seat.

Voldemort seemed quite absorbed in his reading.

He might as well take advantage of his presence there. He scanned the familiar shelves with his eyes and spotted one which he was certain would contain the information he had previously been interested in. But now, with the most powerful wizard he had known, it seemed irrelevant.

He walked toward it, still alert at his exposed back, and picked out '_The Reputable Pureblood in Wizarding Society_'. This was bound to have spells which altered and manipulated someone's first impression.

Draco sat on his chair and skipped the theoretical brainwashing. As expected, the Malfoy library was well packed. The spell was there and it explained everything and more than he needed to know. It couldn't be cast twice on the same person and the effects of _fictus opinione_ would wear off after a few hours. Eh, not really that useful. A paragraph caught his eye and he read it interestedly.

"_The proper wizard need not resort to such spells often for he will be gracious and pleasing to everyone of importance to his economical goals. These spells, rather inefficient for long term, were designed to push a complicated character to allow the caster to redeem himself in their eyes. Some can be used to facilitate day-to-day transactions and undesirable household interactions such as a wife affected by hysteria. The role of a man is not to appease a woman yet it is understandable that the latter be weaker in governing oneself for they were created as lesser in the aspect of self-control. It is the duty of the husband to deal quickly with such outbursts in order to avoid escalation and be profitable to both parties. This is when a soothing charm can play an important role in maintaining household tranquillity."_

Draco snorted loudly at the horribly biased text. When was this written, in the 40's?

He glanced up quickly to see if Voldemort had heard his nasal protest but the man hadn't even lifted his head from the tome. He was focused, completely enraptured in the material he was reading and that made him look so... _human_.

He genuinely looked like he couldn't be disturbed by anything then. It was so surreal to Voldemort's academic side, which he didn't know he had and had never imagined to. Draco averted his gaze to stare at the floor, afraid of him burning holes into him from his stupid staring.

Yet, he felt even stupider when it was rather obvious that Voldemort read and researched. What else would explain his vast knowledge of spells, his fast wand work, and his ease with non-verbal casting...? Draco wondered if Voldemort ever had difficulties in practicing a new spell or when he had been a student at Hogwarts, if he had failed a class...

Lucius had boasted sometimes about 'our Great Lord' and how their ancestor, Abraxas had been his classmate; he spoke of how well achieved _He_ had been, a prefect and the Headboy of the school, how everyone admired and respected him... even the teachers! And that he had always been top of the school.

Draco just couldn't understand it... Voldemort – who had been Tom Marvolo Riddle, - according to his grandfather's memory – had had it all; intelligence, respect and a good fami- _No._

He couldn't say that for sure, could he? Lucius and Abraxas had never spoken about it, although they had mentioned several times he was the heir of Slytherin. But his father or his mother...? Draco had no clue.

_Tom_... it just... didn't sound right. It was rather common, too common for a pureblood, it had no impact. And with his current appearance, it truly didn't fit him. He repeated the name in his head.

_Tom Marvolo Riddle_... Lucius had said that even as a student _He_ had received an invitation to work for the Ministry. By now, Draco was sure he could have been in Fudge's position! So why? Why hadn't he accepted it? Wouldn't that have given him more power? Wasn't that what he wanted now?

_Aargh_, so frustrating! Why on earth complicate your life in such a way? It didn't make sense.

Draco audibly huffed and levitated his book and ordered it back on its useless spot.

He risked another glance at Voldemort.

His heart almost stopped when said wizard stared at him intensely. It even appeared he had been doing it for a while. The heavy tome was out of is His lap and his body leaned forward on the chair.

W-what was the matter...?

"It appears a loose tongue runs in the family."

Draco stiffened at the coldness in His voice. _Oh Merlin, he had been aware of it all..._

"H-how do you do it?" Draco's voice wavered under the intensity of His scrutiny. How could he read his mind like that?

"How does a fifteen year old cast a _cruccio_ and a killing curse, and exterminates everything around him in less than five minutes?"

Draco's eyebrows rose. _Touché..._ He didn't feel comfortable when Voldemort tried to stare into him, to figure out answers by himself.

"A good dose of luck...?" What a fucking lame answer. Draco wanted to stick his head into sand and just pretend he didn't exist for a while. A low chuckle interrupted his self-wallowing.

Voldemort was _amused_? He had amused the Dark Lord. He hadn't been aware that the '_Darkness reincarnation'_ was able to feel anything at all, except for rage and blood lust. He had always seen him angry or filled with contempt. This side was completely new to Draco, and he had no doubt it was an exclusive occasion.

"Indeed, you and the Potter boy seem to share something in common."

Voldemort leaned back, crossing his leg. Draco had to admit it; he looked rather regal, as if he owned the place, even though it was **his**.

"I do hope you're referring to the number of fingers in our hands..."

Voldemort's smirk increased and Draco's eyebrows rose impossibly higher. He had made a joke and Voldemort had liked it... well, more like _tolerated_.

"Do tell me, what other spells have you practiced?"

"What makes you think I ever had?"

"As interesting as polite society may appear, I doubt you came all the way to the Library at 1 in the morning to research on how to charm your way through life." His voice was smooth and even Draco oddly found himself liking it.

But he would have never imagined this whole interaction. It was bizarre but Draco still played along. Perhaps he was just too tired to risk punishment.

"The _fictus opinione_ charm."

Voldemort sighed. "That I could already see. You were reading a book about it."

Had Voldemort read the _entire _Library?

At the continued silence Draco felt he had no other choice than to answer, reluctantly.

"Well... Some minor spells like _aer absciuss_ and a shattering hex." Somehow, he didn't think the Dark Lord would appreciate him being able to cast a corporeal Patronus.

Voldemort narrowed his eyes and Draco asked himself what he had done to instigate Him this time.

"Dumbledore has always pushed the indoctrination that not all magic is the same and other spells have less value than the ones he deems 'morally correct'. All magic _is_ magic. A simple reduction spell which is used for daily commodity can be cast following transfiguration laws and shrink the heart of someone until his whole system gives out, the pressure of the blood pumped into the veins making them burst. Quite a creative death."

Draco's face was bound to look horrified at the gruesome death.

"A corporeal Patronus, which is extremely rare for a dark caster to produce, is a very useful tool in either delivering or gathering intelligence in times of war and to even control Dementors if you are skilled enough. Now," Voldemort rose to his feet, staring quite intently at him "show me."

Draco looked at Voldemort, baffled by all of what He had said. There was so much to know about this powerful wizard that he thought would be impossible to acquire in a lifetime. What He had said did truly make sense, but it was so... mind altering to hear the Dark Lord defending Light Magic.

Draco was slower in getting up, rather undecided how he should behave, but Voldemort stared at him patiently and that somehow gave him a moment to gather and box away his doubts in favour of succeeding at the Patronus like he had at Olivander's. Somehow, he had ended up not wanting to disappoint this man, who although was very cruel and uncaring, was also extremely intelligent and had a very unique view on Magic.

Draco wondered if one day he would be allowed to understand about spells as much as Him.

He tried to focus of a happy memory. _Any will do, any at all._ He could use the euphoria of the first time he had made Slytherin win the Quidditch game. He focused on the crowd that had cheered him on, his older Slytherin teammates who had come up to him to praise his reflexes, that bubbly energy in the pit of his stomach that had made him believe he could accomplish anything.

"_Expecto Patronum."_

Silvery threads drew away from the tip of his burgundy wand and Draco watched enraptured how the Peruvian Vipertooth dragon formed and landed on the floor, looking at him expectantly.

* * *

_Incredible_. Voldemort didn't remember the last time he had seen a corporeal Patronus or something had impressed him. A wizard who had cast two of the Unforgivables was able to cast a perfectly formed Patronus? A dark wizard wasn't able to cast one because Light magic of this kind demanded you be as untainted as possible from darkness. Voldemort had never been able to master it.

His eyes couldn't leave the white glowing Dragon. This boy had no idea how rare he was as a wizard. No, he wouldn't be. He looked on as if it were the most normal spell to perform.

Voldemort had honestly not expected more than a mist. Just what exactly was the boy capable of? What were his limits?

Dumbledore, that old fool! Voldemort grinned. Let him focus on Potter, let him think Potter was the «only one» able to defeat him and use a fifteen year old child who had been nothing more than lucky against him.

He would take Draco Malfoy and make him **his** to control.

* * *

Draco glanced uncomfortably at Voldemort. He had grown quite silent and his passive expression gave nothing away as he stared intensely at his Patronus. It was rather disconcerting.

He dismissed his dragon a moment later, breaking the trance Voldemort had been in.

"Are you able to focus on your magical core, right this instance? Lector has shown you how."

His voice was calm and collected, betraying nothing of his previous thoughts.

Draco nodded. So that exercise had really been about his magic. He felt reluctant to have to close his eyes in a room with only Voldemort in but it wasn't as if he could refuse under the intensity of his attention.

He repeated the exercise, clearing his mind and waiting for any type of light and sure enough, there it was. Except, he was almost blinded by the flash this time.

It was red! A rather glaring red. When Draco had opened his eyes, he was frowning and staring down, blinking a few times to clear his vision.

"It's red now... what does that mean?" He tentatively asked.

Voldemort's hand gestured in a dismissive manner. "Now cast the revealing spell."

Contrasting to his exterior, Voldemort felt... very intrigued. It wasn't normal; teenagers' magical cores stood in a range of magenta to orange, adults' between orange-yellow and the most exceptional wizards ranged between different shades of red. Merlin's himself had been the only wizard recorded to ever report a white coloured core.

"Watch carefully." Voldemort waved his wand in an elegant 'U' and pronounced the incantation for him to hear. An extremely bright light with a tint of red shot out of His wand and Draco had to shelter his eyes as it shot up and settled in a circle, moving upon itself while floating in the air.

Draco looked at it, awed. He could «feel» this thing. It pulsated alluring power, a dark seduction stifling his senses. So intoxicating... it called to him. Draco was sure it did. He wanted to reach it, to take it as his. It should be his, why not?

And then out of a sudden, the circle of magic disappeared into the wand that had cast it and Draco woke up from his stupor. Voldemort hadn't commented, he simply gestured for him to do the same.

Draco wet his lips in anticipation. He hoped he could do it on his first try.

"_Ostende spectro_"

A wave of relief washed over him when his magic poured out of the wand and arranged in a circle, continuously flashing a bright shade of red. It wasn't as toward white as Voldemort's and Draco didn't know what that meant.

Voldemort approached him and he almost broke his concentration.

"Focus." He ordered.

Draco frowned when he saw the unreadable expression on His serpentine face as He reached out to touch Draco's magic. That moment, he felt as if something precious of his was going to be defiled.

"No, don't-"

Voldemort threw him a pointed look and reached with His long, thin and pale hand. The instant He had touched Draco's magic, a shiver ran through his body.

It was definitely the oddest thing to feel, Draco decided.

But Voldemort hadn't limited himself to that. He seemed to understand quite a lot about this for he separated the magical circle with his bare hands and pulled it to his eye level, inspecting something on it, as if it had writings.

It was all a situation too awkward to have the Dark Lord stare at your magic as if it was the most fascinating mystery on the whole planet.

* * *

Voldemort was sure Nagini had felt it also, if her undivided attention was anything to go by. Truly, what a magnificent specimen of magic. So the boy hadn't lied about its colour. It was very unordinary for someone that young to possess such an extensive magical core. Could it have been his upbringing with the demanding lessons? Voldemort didn't know.

But one thing he was of – all of his previous theories about the boy's initial blue tone were discarded by this new information. _Purebloods are truly remarkable._ Yet... No, not all... not even the majority. Yet, the greatest wizards had been purebloods, one of the Salazar Slytherin. Though, the Malfoy ancestors had no blood ties to him. So why was Draco Malfoy so... _different_?

The boy's magic felt so right in his hands, it was warm and tingly, a sensation he wasn't used to feeling.

He released the piece of magic and watched it fly back into its wand.

"Since when did you notice the colour of your core change? Was it gradual or spontaneous?"

"_Uhm..._" Too much onslaught for 2 a.m. "This is the first time I ever noticed a difference... I wasn't aware it even had a colour, actually."

Voldemort stared at him. Draco shifted in his position.

"Of course it has a tone. What is Hogwarts teaching nowadays? This is basic knowledge."

Draco's doubts about Voldemort's questions being rhetorical or not vanished when the Dark Lord's eyebrows quirked impatiently.

"We don't cover magical essence, just spells and wand movements." Draco almost fidgeted under the intense staring. Then out of the blue, a smirk marred His faced and it was quite cynical.

"Of course... Anything that might distinguish students from others is unacceptable... Everyone has to be **equal**."

Draco felt as if he had intruded in a private moment as Voldemort trailed off, appearing deep in thought.

"The Founders' reaction to Dumbledore's un-education would have been worthy to witness."

As if he had become suddenly aware of him, Voldemort dismissed him. "Go now, later on you will come here at eight sharp. I do not tolerate delays."

Draco half-frowned at being ordered in his own house, but he didn't risk Voldemort's wrath.

He bowed as was expected and left the Library without a word.

When he reached his bedroom, he plopped into his bed and slept, a small smile tugging at his lips as he thought about being able to cast a corporeal Patronus.

* * *

The wind was cold. Extremely cold. He rose stiffly from the floor. Everyone was dead. He would have been too if not for his quick thinking and self-preservation skills. Or if he had been laying on the snow, which fell on new layers, covering everything in a new start.

It would be a new start for him too – to find the one responsible for all of this and extract his revenge.

_Draco Malfoy_.


	19. Horcuxes?

**T**hat morning it had been quit a pain to go through his hygiene and feeding routines. Too few hours to rest. The wound on his shoulder was continuously getting better, especially with his godfather's skilful brewing. The potions had been placed on his spot at the dining table along with a note written by him to inform when he had to take each one.

Draco didn't care for its foulness much; what mattered were its restoration abilities. Never mind the sweaty sock aroma.

He ate his breakfast alone (as usual), a combination of dried fruits with oats. His mother was absent yet again. For what, he didn't care.

The Daily Prophet arrived on time, at quarter to eight as routine. Draco fed the owl some oats which were violently refused except for the dried coconut pieces, before the bird took off.

He opened the newspaper and his mood instantly sobered up.

"_Case on Mr. Parkinson advances to Court_

_Yesterday the first hearing concluded with unfavourable evidence against Mr. Parkinson, strong indicators of how this case might end. As these proceedings tarnish Mr. Parkinson, his position in the Ministry has been revoked, with our Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge's comments on the fierce criticism on the lack of security in the public services._

'_I assure you, this is a case of its own! This is the first time we had to deal with such unfortunate events! It is one of its kind and, if it somehow happens not to be, then I as the Minister will immediately take care of it. There are new rules and guidelines which we will address to when investigating new employees. They will ensure the impossibility of such ever happening during my governing.'_

_When the Daily Prophet asked Minister Fudge to elaborate on the new guidelines, we were denied answer. _

_With the increasing pressure from the public outcry, Mr. Parkinson was dismissed from his post yesterday after the hearing. His family has received negative feedback and daughter and wife refused to explain how it has affected their lives (...)"_

Draco couldn't help his insane grin.

He didn't have to do anything anymore; all would fall into silence after a few weeks with the Parkinson's family ruined. Pansy was 'broken goods' now. She wouldn't be seen as a desirable young high class lady anymore. She wouldn't be able to marry anyone of importance, especially _**him**_.

Draco wouldn't have to worry about his arranged marriage after this; perhaps that was what his mother had been doing all along – breaking the agreement between the two families, all diplomatically, of course.

Draco frowned when another owl entered through his fireplace and delivered his letter. That sinew creature had been lucky the fire wasn't lit there. It was from Goyle.

He shrugged his shoulders and opened it. The writing was rather appalling: squiggly and with grammatical errors, it was a pain for him to continue reading. Goyle reported about Pansy's treatment at school, how none of their classmates spoke to her and he even had written excitedly about one time how she had to sit at the Hufflepuff table since no one had allowed her to sit at Slytherin's. Then he told him that Potter, Weasley and Granger had been acting suspicious and the Gryffindors seemed to be all more disgustingly united and friendly between each other. After that, Goyle had asked him how he had been and if he was coming from suspension soon.

Apparently, McGonagall had informed his House that he had been suspended as punishment for him having missed out the return to Hogwarts, only later to be found in Zonko's shop, buying pranks and forbidden objects in Hogwarts.

Well, Draco guessed even she hadn't been aware of what had happened, certainly his Mother had told Snape to account that story to the Headmistress.

It was a good excuse, he supposed. He didn't bother writing back to Goyle before heading up the stairs to the Library where he was supposed to take lessons from the Dark Lord himself.

* * *

"Today, I want you to fully understand what a wand is for and what it cannot do. For example, a wand cannot store magic and it is not commanded by _wishes_. You cannot «will» a wand to cast anything, unlike your magic itself. That is why there are wand movements; they indicate what the wand is supposed to do – think of it as a code triggering a reaction. Wordless magic is quite accessible because of this. Words are not important to a wand; they simply are there for you, to help the caster in knowing the purpose and focusing on the intention of the spell. It is not for the wand to work, but for the magic to form. Everything clear so far?"

Voldemort really knew how to simplify complex subjects. He nodded in confirmation, eager to understand more about something he had never thought about. Not even his private tutors had been so knowledgeable.

"Now, magic is conducted through the body with intention. Before you can even conduct it exteriorly, you need to be aware of your motive to extract it from your core – what do I want to cast, what type of spell is it, what should I expect from it? – those are the fundamental questions you poise to yourself unconsciously before you «will» your magic into action. Magic then becomes an intention to do something. There are two ways you can project this 'intention' to the exterior and the most commonly used is a wand, a conductor and a focal point which aids a caster to project quicker and easier. As for the _other_ less used method... are you familiar with wandless magic?"

Draco was awed at Voldemort's view on magic. It motivated him to know more. Everything was so bound to each other – magic, body, mind – that it was hard to distinguish them word-by-word. Truly, Hogwarts hadn't even given him a glimpse of what was laid out to him now. That was why he didn't want to lose this once-in-a-lifetime information. Draco nodded his head so Voldemort would proceed.

"Wandless magic is performed based on intention only. The trigger to exteriorize it is _power_, the power of your intention. The more **convinced** you are on performing an action, the easier your magic will project itself, without the aid of a conductor. "

The small moment of silence was enough for Draco to take the opportunity to ask.

"Can a wizard perform wandless and wordless magic at the same time?"

Voldemort smirked at him but said nothing. He only turned his gaze from him and looked passively to a book lying on a coffee table.

Draco watched unblinking as the book slowly transfigured into a mouse which Nagini, who had been lying bored near the fireplace, started chasing it around the room, hissing in excitement. The poor mouse squeaked and ran for dear life.

He stared dumbfounded at the spot the transfiguration had taken place.

"It is possible, yes, but unlikely for you to witness it regularly. Not many wizards or witches have the capacity for it."

The voice brought him out of his stupor. Draco really wanted to ask Voldemort if he would ever be able to do what he had done but he didn't want to be disappointed, which was the most probably to happen.

"Hogwarts had once taught the importance of magic but now it's reduced to diminishing intelligence, un-educating young generations, anything to keep population ignorant."

Draco's brows creased and Voldemort noticed the doubts emanating from him.

"Why and who would they do that...?"

Voldemort sighed, as if he had explained this for hundreds of times. "Ignorant people are easier to control. Anyone who believes that different individuals are to become part of a same group and adopt the same behaviour, ignoring personal skills and shaping them into a set of standard of '_socially acceptable' _qualities, those are who try to control society as we know it."

Draco tried to process the information and indentify someone like that. Someone who would preach equality under the guise of justice, someone who was a figure of power... His eyes widened.

"Dumbledore..."

Voldemort's smirk appeared to be of satisfaction.

"Good. Remember this: equality isn't the same as justice. You can judge an owl and a toad equally on their ability to fly. The toad will believe its whole life to be incompetent. These sets of skills you are subjugated to acquire in Hogwarts each year benefit only a specific type of people. The rest are bound to struggle and fail, acquiring mediocre jobs and positions in society."

"What type of people?"

"Those who would benefit from their own cause. Why do you think Hogwarts only teaches Light magic? Why do you think the most influential wizards and witches share the same core skills? Anyone who so as much as _hints_ to deviating from Light magic is exonerated and forever branded as a terrorist."

Now that was a bit too much. Those had to be coincidences. Plus, Voldemort was influential in the wizarding world too, and he didn't resemble Dumbledore. Except that they were manipulative. What that was he trying to do now? Manipulate him to his own cause?

"What about you? You highly influence the Ministry of Magic's course of action. Anything that involves you makes them drop other cases and rush after your coat tail."

"That is well noticed, but I am not in power, yet..."

Voldemort's face darkened in thought.

"Now, let's proceed. Today you will practice the spells you learned yesterday."

Draco stared confusedly at Voldemort.

"I'm well aware some books are missing from this Library, particularly on some rather advanced spells. I doubt Hogwarts assigned you to learn from them. It's glaringly obvious you are studying on your own. Now, focus on practicing them. Don't let anything interrupt your concentration."

Well... if Voldemort commanded, it wasn't as if he could refuse. He started off with the first spell he had memorized. As he was casting it, which came out rather easily for him, he noticed Voldemort was simply observing him. He cast the third spell flawlessly and out of the corner of his eyes, Voldemort seemed to think about something.

Then his eyes narrowed when Draco had cast the fourth with a rather complicated wand movement but he hadn't felt any strain on his part to perform it.

"Your magic flows easier. Did you notice this change?"

"Well... it's a bit hard not to." His tone wasn't sarcastic, but Voldemort didn't appreciate his reply, if the tightening of his lips was anything to go by.

"Your wand, was it responsibly for this change?"

Draco's chest tightened. He preferred not to divulge everything about himself. Nonetheless, he nodded.

"Interesting... Show me your memory at Olivander's."

It almost felt as if he had asked him to undress. His discomfort showed on his face.

"I am giving you the option to voluntarily show me a piece of your memory instead of tearing your mind apart, _again_."

Draco scoffed. "Giving me an option? Voluntary? You're forcing me to do the same thing, only through different ways."

"Careful, child." Voldemort's aura pressed down on him and Draco had to actually force his knees not to buckle under him. "Do not, for an instance, forget who I am."

The threat in his voice couldn't have been clearer. But it still annoyed Draco. "Fine."

He huffed in frustration and thought about the time he had been at Olivander's and reluctantly extracted a silvery thread out of his temple.

The thread lingered in the air and before Draco could change his mind, Voldemort's magic had already made it float out of his wand into his.

He watched as Voldemort's materialized a mirror, except that its glass was liquid-like and watched his memory attentively.

"Very unusual. I see now. That explains your magical outburst."

No, it didn't. It wasn't that clear to him.

A bit irritated at the prolonged silence, Draco asked and interrupted Voldemort from his thoughts.

"Care to explain?"

The older wizard narrowed his eyes and _tsked_. "Such impertinence..."

Draco was surprised He had answered him still.

"Your magical core expanded as you aged but you did not make enough use of it to tilt the rapidly filling space. Think of it as a tank; your magic filled the tank and you didn't extract as much as it deposited. You ended up spilling magic at the precise moment of your outburst. The trigger was emotion. In times of distress, you produce adrenaline which in return stimulates your magical reserves to replenish. Yours were already high and they had to be released. Now, that wand will channel your magic correctly. It is one in a million cases like yours that happen. I've never encountered anyone who had been using the wrong kind of wand. It's quite impressive... that you didn't figure out the obvious."

And he had been able to cast 2 difficult darker spells with an underperforming wand. He really was interesting. Draco neared back instinctively when Voldemort circled a chair and walked closer to where he was standing.

"It's not as if I'm the only one to blame. Hogwarts doesn't teach about anything that might remotely suggest it nor did any of my teachers notice there was a problem. We've always been told difficulty and struggles were natural processes of learning."

Hogwarts hadn't taught him much. Few were the spells he would find useful in a duel, much less in a battle. He had slightly increased his chances of survival with self-learning.

No matter how much effort would take him, Draco would always prefer studying over what Voldemort had done to insure his immortality. He would never split his soul in order to create a horcrux.

He was slammed harshly into the wall by an invisible force and all the air got knocked out of his lungs, his vision swam and he was sure the warm trickle he felt on the back of his head wasn't sweat. Before he had time to regain his senses...

"How do you know what a horcrux is? Whom did you hear it from? **Answer now**."

Voldemort's magic crackled menacingly around his figure, less than two steps away from where His magic kept him pinned to the wall, a few inches above the ground.

Oh God, oh fuck, fuck, _fuck_...

Draco struggled to think. Voldemort's face was contorted in fury and the magic surrounding his form crackled and lashed out at him. He was truly a terrifying sight.

What should he say? _Ah_, in his panic he forgot how he had actually found about it. Had it been in Hogwart's restricted section? No, no it hadn't. Oh God. _Where_?

He winced when Voldemort closed the space between them, his magic at that proximity wild and _painful_.

"Answer me!" Pure menace laced His voice and it didn't help Draco. He became more distressed and he couldn't think.

A hand grabbed him by the neck and partially cut off his air supply. It was hard to breathe. Was he going to die? Draco didn't want to die...

Where was his wand? He searched quickly for it and found it on the floor. He let out an exasperated sound.

"C-can't breathe..."

Voldemort didn't loosen his grip and instead grabbed him by his chin and forced his head to face him. There was eye contact. For a fraction of second, Draco recalled the last time Voldemort had invaded his memories and excruciating pain he had endured so he lowered his shields and allowed free access to the older wizard, hoping he wouldn't suffer as much.

And there it was; He felt a push in his head and a tug at his memories but it was less painful this time. He still felt a heavy pressure on his head though, as if someone was stepping on his skull. He was afraid it would crack open.

Draco witnessed as Voldemort went through his memories, all of them. What he had done yesterday, the day before that, the first time he had woken up in the safety of his house, him killing Vrudel, the threat he had made previously, the torture he had suffered at their hand, until it arrived at his outburst in Diagon Alley where Voldemort had paused to watch more attentively.

Draco's head swam as if he had been in an extreme rollercoaster. It was nauseating.

He revived the memory of the Aurors coming to his Hospital room and promising to sue him, which Voldemort was watching too and then skipped to the time when he had been at the book shop in Knocturn Alley before the commotion in the area and Draco witnessed his own image sitting and reading through a book... the passage on the horcruxes!

Voldemort had re-watched that memory twice, as if he was searching for something and then retracted from his mind. That particular sensation was terribly uncomfortable – his brain matter had felt as if it had been sucked out, leaving him with a splitting headache.

"How did you come to know that I made one?"

The dangerous tone made Draco gulp in fear.

"I-I didn't... I just deducted- I swear!"

The white yew wand pointed at his neck, which was now free from the vice-grip. The magic had released its hold on him, and he was now standing on his feet, the towering form of Voldemort at 6''1' over his 5''9' appearing more menacing and intimidating than it should. He was glued to the wall, the older –_and much powerful wizard_- didn't allow him room to escape.

He glanced worriedly at the wand.

"I should kill you now. Why would I risk you running around with that dangerous knowledge you shouldn't even had acquired in the first place!"

The low hiss made Draco's fine hair stand on edge. _Fuck, he was really scary_. He stared wide-eyed into the burgundy stare.

"N-no, I swear I won't tell anyone! No one will know it from me. They haven't so far..."

"There's no guarantee of it. Make a wizard's oath."

Draco's surprise was plastered on his features. "What...?"

The wand pushed harder into his neck, stabbing him.

"Believe me, I am being more than tolerant right now. Do not test me more, Draco."

He gulped. _Shit_, he couldn't escape this. "Ok, I will."

Voldemort nodded and stepped back.

"Repeat: I will not speak, write or use any other form of communication to intentionally or unintentionally divulge any information about horcruxes and their link to Tom Marvolo Riddle, unless specifically permitted by him; if I break this oath, I will forfeit my magic."

Draco couldn't find any loophole between the lines. He bit his lip and repeated word-after-word. His wand glowed, indicating it had worked.

He breathed in the desperation he could somehow undo the wizard's oath.

"It's done... I see no point in you still stabbing me with your wand..." He spoke softly, almost dejectedly, not wanting to incite the man to actually kill him.

His burgundy eyes weren't as hostile anymore.

Voldemort backed away. Any small comfort that might have been building between the two of them for the last days seemed lost. He felt as if they were on ground zero.

"Now, let's continue."

The rest of the day was spent with Voldemort poking and inspecting Draco's magic and how he performed some minor spells, like _lumos maxima_. He had showed him how he could dim the light at the tip of his wand and increase it by correcting the flow of magic. Draco had found it quite an easy concept to grasp now that he was attuned to the feeling of his core more than ever. When lunch time had arrived, he hadn't been allowed any rest and Draco suspected this was some sort of punishment for snooping around in Voldemort's life – although he had done so without knowing it concerned the wizard – and it was quite a hard task to ignore the churning in his stomach and the pain of the gastric acid temporarily digesting the stomach itself.

Still, Draco tried to keep focus on the various spells Voldemort asked him followed by his own observations and comments on how he shouldn't waste magic on a small spell and how to direct only the necessary amount to it. Apparently, Draco had a tendency to overdo things and so he wasted quite a few of his magical reserve.

Draco was surprised that throughout the lesson he hadn't been cursed or punished further for him finding out about horcruxes (although it was really unfair) but now he thought he understood.

As he was dismissed only for dinner, feeling slightly tired and his shoulder aching, Draco pondered about a side of Voldemort he had never suspected about: the older man was quite patient when it came to teaching; although Draco had been instructed, Voldemort always explained himself calmly and clearly. He spoke straight to the point and simplified otherwise complicated concepts and subjects. He would have been quite a great teacher...

He could captivate the interest of anyone in the most boring of definitions and his knowledge was so extended, Draco wouldn't know if there was something about magic the man didn't know!

He moved sulkily to his bedroom, too impatient to dine with his mother after the argument the day before they had, so he ordered two sandwiches and two desserts to his desk. He ate quietly as he read about defensive spells on his advanced text book. They would learn it the next years.

* * *

Voldemort sat at his desk. He was back into his room. Lucius had sent him an owl reporting that he had executed everything as he had been ordered and it all went accordingly.

Good.

He liked when his plans were correctly executed. He wasn't one to torture Lucius all the time, although it was entertaining to see how pathetically afraid of him the pureblood was.

How ironic.

He, a half-blood – Voldemort frowned in disdain – was Slytherin's heir who disliked anyone who wasn't a pureblood, and he had Britain's purebloods bowing down to _**him**_.

Soon, he would have all Britain worship him and not even Dumbledore would be able to prevent it. He wouldn't live to witness his ascension.

With a lazy wave of his yew wand, he removed his glamour. His hair was half-back now, he had a nose bridge already formed and his features had grown sharper, more defined. Perhaps a few more weeks – maybe 4 or 5 – and his former appearance would be restored. And Dumbledore would be dead.

Draco would be his Horse of Troy; he would lure Potter out of Hogwarts and he would allow his Death eaters to infiltrate Dumbledore's office and kill him. And Voldemort himself wouldn't even be there – no, he would be already in the ministry. And then he would be the saviour of Hogwarts. People always liked their heroes, didn't they? He would order his troops to retreat, not before quitting on a show for the cameras at the school where he would appear to save the day from the Death eaters who had taken hold of the students for days, demanding the ransom of being recognized by the wizarding community as their rulers, their new Government.

That's where he would step in; after they reported to him of Dumbledore's death, he would step into the school with a few aurors (obviously his followers) and come out proclaiming victory over the _terrorists_. He would also deny Voldemort's return, that such a raid had been carried out by his few left followers, and would describe how Dumbledore had aided them heroically thus dying in the process.

Paint a tragic story and everyone would believe him. Potter would be declared as disappeared – he would place a public search warrant for him, deeming him dangerous and in need to be placed in a mental institution. Rita Skeeter had done enough to convince the public of him being insane.

Meanwhile, he would be praised for his quick action and for saving «the little ones» from the Death Eaters and parents would feel grateful to him. Fudge, Voldemort knew, would be too coward and too slow to act before him. But Voldemort- no, Thomas Dolosus would save the day, thus becoming Britain's #1 hero. With public adoration, he would apply for the next elections and rise as the Minister of Magic.

Everything would fall into carefully constructed pieces.

Of course, Voldemort realised that the most faithful followers of Dumbledore would be suspicious, but that's where his highly trained spies and assassins would step in to silence them if they as much as dared to raise their voices.

After all, accidents happened.

Draco played a vital role in his plans. He would be the intermediate who would allow his Death Eaters to do their job and for his plans to progress.

Today, he had seen that the boy had great potential. He had quite an expanded magical core, he hadn't even gotten tired during their intensive lessons and Voldemort was satisfied with that. Draco had a keen affinity for magic, he learned quite quickly; it reminded him of his younger-self. Even as a new born, Voldemort had sensed something different about him. Ever since the moment Lucius had presented him with his first born, the restless and fidgeting small form had calmed almost instantly down when he had been in his arms.

The small child hadn't even opened his eyes yet and he could already feel Him, _His_ magic.

Since then, he had paid more attention to Draco.

For his fourth birthday, Voldemort had sent one of his followers on an errand to deliver the boy a present. He wondered if Draco still had that toy... he doubted it. He had signed his letter to the child but he probably wouldn't remember at this age.

Why had he sent it?

Well, he planned on making the boy worship him, adore him even. He had told Lucius to educate Draco into being subservient to him and Lucius, as usual, found it quite an honour to have his son serve him, the most powerful wizard of his time.

And yet... Draco was defiant, had a will of his own ad his mind questioned. He had realised the boy had quite a perseverance for seeking answers.

It seemed Lucius didn't know his own son.

Everything he had told the man to do, the way his son needed to grow, had failed. But...

Draco seemed attracted to the Dark Arts, it was inevitable. He also noticed how sometimes the boy would lean more toward him unconsciously, how his body posture was turned to his direction... Draco was attracted to his magic. He appeared to have a keen sense which allowed him to feel it more astutely than others.

He wondered how far that magical sensibility went... Could he sense other wizards' magical auras? That would have him rather formidable. Magical sensibility was very useful for wards and in battle; by sensing the shift in one's magic, he would have the leverage of a fraction of a second to dodge or counter the curse of his opponent. Maybe he should explore that skill tomorrow.

Voldemort needed Draco to obey him without questions, but now... his spirit seemed hard to break. Now, he couldn't use force. That would distance the boy from him just like it had the other day, after he had forced him to make the oath of confidentiality.

If force wouldn't work, then he needed to be persuasive.

He would have had leverage with his former appearance. This body repulsed all his followers which served its purpose in instilling fear and obedience, but his future plans and Draco depended on charisma, _charm_, persuasion. Just like it had been in his Hogwarts' years. His human physique had played quite the part in it. People were immediately attracted and sympathized more with eye-appealing wizards and witches.

He couldn't accelerate the process, though. So, he needed to be careful how he would tread with Draco from then on.

It would be a challenge. And Voldemort had always overcome them.

* * *

"Cynthia, my dear, would you do me the favour of researching this Thomas Dolosus, yes?"

Fudge requested his temporary assistant. The young – and rather well shaped – witch was actually part of Human Resources but he was short-handed without Parkinson, what a pity for a man of his calibre to end like that...

Thanks to him, he had always been able to ignore the tedious paperwork and take some lovely vacations with his wife and children, but now...

Speaking of lovely...

The young woman smiled tightly at him – he understood though, he put a bit too much pressure on her – and replied in her very polite tone: "Certainly, Minister Fudge-"

"Oh please, darling, you make me sound so old, call me Cornelius from now on."

Her pretty pink lips formed a line of annoyance.

"Minister Cornelius... I see you have chosen someone to interview. Would you like me to contact him so my department will conduct the recruitment?"

"Oh no, no, my dear, Mr. Dolosus is quite well achieved and I'm afraid he would find it rude if he wouldn't be received by me personally. Do not fret your pretty head, my dear, I will receive him in my office and interview him myself, although that will be only a formality, after all his qualifications are _outstanding_."

The young witch looked slightly offended, nonetheless, quite attractive still... If he didn't have Mrs. Fudge... Well.

"Very well, Minister. The background will take a while since we have to be very thorough and he does have quite a few references that will be checked one-by-one."

He sighed. So tedious such proceedings were. He hoped h would have his Under-secretary soon; bureaucracy had never been his cup of tea.

"Certainly, I am fully aware of it."


End file.
